Wild Blue Yonder
by FlowerCrazy
Summary: Takes place almost 18 months after 'Enlightening'. Red works to juggle running the business, fixing planes and finding the elusive Airwolf.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters of Airwolf and MacGyver are not mine. I just borrow to create my own reality. All other characters created that are not part of the show are mine.

Please feed the writer. Feeding comes in the form of reviews, comments, questions, favorites, etc. It gives me courage to continue.

Summary: Almost 18 months after returning from the hospital, Red is off and working on a new project to expand her business. The injuries of the accident still cause her discomfort but she's not willing to slow down. The search for the elusive Airwolf begins and ghosts of the past begin to resurface. Will she be able to find this mysterious chopper or will she find herself on a razors edge of destruction.

**Chapter 1**

Red stood in front of an old run down hanger building with a faded sign on the outside of the building that said 'Dalton Air'. The place was going to need a lot more work than she expected. The doors had been chained and locked, the place having stood like this for years. She walked up slowly to the doors and used the key Jack Dalton had sent her to unlock the padlock and then the second key to unlock the door itself. It took her a little WD-40 and a lot of cussing to finally get the lock to budge and get the door to slide part way open.

She stood there for a long moment, looking at her newest acquisition, one that MacGyver had helped her find by tracking down his old friend Jack. Jack liked to wheel and deal but Red had made him an offer he couldn't refuse. He had a small charter business down on some tropical island where he flew tourists around and was happily married with two 'little Jacks' running around. According to Mac, apparently family life suited him much better than he thought it would.

What little light was shed in through broken windows on this overcast day wasn't enough to improve the look on the inside of the hanger. But the one thing that did brighten her day was the stock of planes, choppers and the antique World War II Bomber that had been pushed inside before the doors had been locked tight. Some looked like they needed a lot of work, some maybe not so much.

The hanger came attached with ninety acres and a runway. It was nestled up in a valley near northern California, often seeing rainy days and overcast skies. The only thing that didn't make it prime real estate was the location. It was a long drive away from anywhere and there was very little but hills, cliffs and mountains for miles. The easiest way in or out was by air, which again, made this place perfect for what she had planned.

Rachelle had convinced her that they needed a new location where they could store larger aircraft to cater to another market. It seemed that more and more film companies were looking for air service companies that specialized in antique aircraft or aircraft of any kind that could be used. There were a few companies out there that specialized in the larger planes and they even utilized the Air Force from time to time, but the more eclectic pieces they wanted for their films caused them to rely on collectors or hobbyist to do the stunts and not all of them were insured or properly trained in stunt piloting, thus costing the film company even more to cover the insurance or to find a trained pilot.

She already had three planes that could be added to the stockpile besides what was inside this hanger: a Steerman, a Huey and a WWII short run bomber. But this hanger and the land around it would be big enough to hold a large assortment of planes as they were repaired, cleaned and brought into service. She moved further inside the hanger, hearing her footsteps echo off the high walls and ceilings. It definitely was going to take a lot of work but with what she saved on the cost of the land and hanger, she'd spend on repair, paint and cleaning materials. Thankfully she could count on Sam and several of her crew to help get things ready or this wouldn't be feasible.

Rachelle continued to do a great job in organizing and running the charter service from Van Nyues so it was one aspect of the business that Red didn't have to deal with. She could trust Rachelle to make the decisions that needed to be made and had even given her power of attorney to have signing rights on any contracts and documents that needed an official signature. That left Red free to start up this other half of the business with some privacy to go along with it.

She poked around a little longer through the office and other rooms at the back. She stretched and pulled off her coat, setting it on the dusty desk. Best to get started now to see what could be salvaged out of the 'fleet' of derelicts or what should just be scrapped out for parts. She would be the only one here for a few days since Sam had been hired to do a photo shoot in Virginia for a nature magazine. Sam had stayed up at the cabin with her for almost six months after she had come home from the hospital. But he grew restless, needing to be out and doing something productive. Plus with winter coming to the mountains and Red still in need of physical therapy as well as Mac and Rachelle believing it wasn't a good idea for her to spend the winter up there that year, they packed up clothes and miscellaneous items, closed up the cabin and headed for warmer climate for the winter months.

Sam had taken off shortly after Red was settled in with Rachelle to work for several magazines he'd been hired out to do. About the time winter was coming to an end in the mountains, he had returned. Red moved back up to the cabin as soon as the snow cleared, getting a full bill of health from the doctors at the VA.

Sam was now on call to do photo journalistic work whenever an assignment came up, otherwise he was free to do whatever he wished. She had told him that he was welcome to move in with her if he felt so inclined and soon after, what few belongings he had were tucked away at her place. Both of them were independent souls and though both enjoyed each other's company, neither could sit still for long before needing to be out and doing something. So between gigs, he was helping her try to track down the elusive Airwolf.

Fall was now upon them already and Sam had been away for the past two weeks on different jobs. This last one would keep him busy for another week at least. She liked the quiet time it gave her when he wasn't around but then she would always find herself looking for him at the oddest times, feeling the ache of loneliness and coming to the realization that she really liked having him around. She didn't want to rush anything though and simply was content just to have him around when she could.

She drew out a pad of paper and pencil from her pocket and began to scribble some down some notes as she walked from plane to plane. She sighed as she came across a tangle of wires in one particular piece of equipment that looked like it had been cobbled together with chewing gum and duct tape to make it work. It was going to be a long afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Red's back screamed out in protest as she hoisted another roof panel up to the top of the hanger. She'd spent the first day assessing everything, then flying back to the airport to sit down with the list she'd written up and began getting supplies ordered the next morning. She had arranged it to be transported as close as possible by road before you had to turn off the main road and take the dirt road to get the rest of the way there. She would meet up with the transport there and haul the supplies over the ridge with a chopper. It took a little effort to coordinate it all. The pile of supplies that now sat out on the tarmac under the tarps a few weeks later was quite impressive.

Several of her crew had helped to hook up and unhook things at both sites and bring her back after she flew the three antiques out to the 'Bone Yard' as it had been dubbed by Erica one afternoon after looking around with a wrinkle of her nose. So the name stuck and stuck so well that it became the name of the company that was registered. 'Bone Yard Vintage Air Service', but the 'Bone Yard' stuck for the short of it.

There were many days she would be the only one out here and between the constant damp and rains they had at this time of year, she took whatever opportunity she could to fix and replace parts of the roof. Today was no exception. It was a warm day for once and the sun was trying to stay out for longer than half an hour. But today was also the big day for a film shoot and her crew was busy with business.

Though her injuries from the crash had healed, it was times like these that they seemed to come flaring back like gang busters to remind her that she would never be what she once was. She got the large sheet of metal up to the roof and sat there panting as she went to get a bucket of tar and the rivet gun. She had replaced the worst of the panels so far and was starting to replace the rest, one section of roof at a time. It was a big accomplishment if she was able to get half a row done in one day. At least the drips inside had stopped so that the building was actually starting to dry out on the inside.

When it was raining, which seemed like more often than not, she spent her time inside. First, she had climbed all over the support structure of metal girders that held the roof up and checked for rust, bird nests, the condition and stability of the electrical wiring for lights and any other odd assortment of items that didn't belong up there. She was to the point of hating seagulls and pigeons with a passion…not to mention the messes they left behind.

Once she was sure that everything was secure and in good working order, she began replacing and repairing the windows that circled the upper level of the walls, just below the roof line. Some had been broken out by hail, some by people with rocks and some by bullets. In the end, it was nice to be able to block out more of the rain and wind, securing the hanger one further step. The hanger doors were in decent shape and in working order once the tracks had been cleared of debris and the wheels oiled.

She finished up with the current panel, having previously removed the piece that she was now replacing. After riveting it on and tarring over the overlapping edges, she lowered her gear to the ground and slid down the rope. Her back and knees protested and she sighed. She wasn't that old but it was amazing how old she felt at times like this.

Deciding to go for a run to loosen up, she stripped out of her gear, pulled on a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt. She took off at a good stride and began to run around the fence line of the ninety acres. That would be something else to fix at some point in time. The old chain link fence had been cut in several areas and rusted in a few more.

As she was half way round the airfield, her ears picked up the sound of an engine coming over the mountains. She knew there was no easy way she could get back to the hanger before the chopper arrived so she simply kept up with her run until she came back around from the other side. The chopper flew overhead a few minutes later and upon arriving back on the tarmac after her lap around the field was done, she saw three people waiting for her.

She came jogging up to them, soaked in sweat and her cheeks flushed. But she had to admit she did feel better, having worked out the kinks in her back and legs from being of the roof most of the day. Sam smiled at her as he offered her a bottle of water. "Thanks," she huffed a little as she kept moving until she had time to cool down.

MacGyver looked around and whistled slightly. "I've never seen this place look so good," he said with a chuckle, "I doubt Jack would even recognize it."

She snorted slightly, "Yeah, you used to tell me about the couple of times that Jack cleared your place out and packed it off to this hanger." She saw Rachelle look at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh? You'll have to give me those details some time," she said with a laugh. "Well Red, still think it was worth purchasing?" she asked as she looked at the pile of stuff that was useless from broken glass to rusted roof panels.

Red finished walking and stretching and chugged some of the water before giving Sam a big sweaty hug, making him give her the 'gross' face. "Hmmm…ask me again in a month," was all she said.

Rachelle rolled her eyes, "That's what you said last month," she teased.

"I know, but it's what I'm saying again. Though I admit, now that I've got all the leaks sealed up, the bird poop washed off and windows repaired, it's a pretty sturdy building. Won't be able to paint the outside until next spring but hopefully it'll be the last thing I need to do to it."

Red looked over at the chopper and saw the hiking and camping gear stowed in the back. She looked back at Sam, "So you guys off to the wilds of Alaska for two weeks?" she asked with a smirk.

Sam nodded, "Yeah. There's still time if you want to change your mind and come with us."

Red sighed and rolled her eyes. "You two go have fun torturing executives and employees of the Foundation and I'll be working on trying to get that old Steerman back in the air. We need it for that upcoming shoot next month," she reminded them.

Rachelle chuckled, "Well hopefully with that new cellenoid and oxygen valve you finally got, it shouldn't be too hard." She grabbed a bag of groceries and a duffle bag of clean clothing and headed to the hanger. She was dropping off supplies for Red to finish up her work here over the next week. She shouted back over her shoulder. "Besides, you've got that air and road show coming up in six days that you have to be at."

There was an unlady like snort from Red. "Easy my ass. Last time I did repairs on that old bird I came out feeling like a contortionist. This will be worse because I've got to remove half the front engine to get into where I need."

Sam chuckled again, "Sounds like a good excuse as any for me to stay dad. I think she'll need help."

Mac finally grabbed a hold of Sam's ear and began walking away, "I don't think so. You promised last year to help me out with this. She's a big girl and able to do it by herself. Time to go or we'll miss our window for getting into the wildlife reserve," he said looking at his watch.

Sam sighed and went over and wrapped his arms around Red, "Gonna miss me?" he asked her quietly.

Red blushed a little, "Yeah. Nights get cold up here. I'll miss my bed warmer," she said in a very hushed voice, casting a look towards Mac to see if he'd caught what they'd been saying. He seemed fairly oblivious as he talked to Rachelle about instructions on picking them up in two weeks. Red leaned up and gave him a kiss. "I'll miss ya. Be careful and stay safe…ok?" she asked.

Sam nodded and gave her a tight squeeze, "You too. Don't get too crazy with things around here. Lex or one of the other guys is only a thirty minute flight away. They can come up and help if you need that extra set of hands. We'll be back in two weeks and then I can help if you need it."

Red kissed him one more time and then playfully pushed him away, "Go on. Your dad's about to go into convulsions," she teased as Mac looked edgy and wanting to be gone. Red waved at the three of them as they began to pile into the chopper, "Bring them home safe Rachelle."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Five days after the guys took off for the wilds of Alaska, Red was packing up her spare gear in the Steerman. It had taken her the better part of three days to get the parts changed out and replaced, then most of the fourth day to get everything back together, tightened, retightened and checked again before taking it up for a flight to make sure it was working. And working it was. It was smooth and even on the turns, the engine sounding as though it was humming along with a steady base note.

Satisfied that it was in good shape, she took to buffing, polishing, touching up the paint and making sure that it was in good looking condition. Rachelle was to meet her at the air and road show with their display tent, gear and such. Not only was this show a way of displaying their business to the 'right' people but also a way of proving her flying skills. The other vintage piece going was the Huey but that was back at the Stars and Stripes hanger where Lex and the others had been giving it a good cleaning and checkup before the show.

She pulled the tarp off and pushed the Steerman out to the runway. Once it was in place, she went back to the hanger and started shutting down the lights and making sure both hanger doors were locked and secured before she climbed up into the old plane and settled in. She called out on the radio to the local tower of her being ready for takeoff since her flight plan was already registered. As she waited for confirmation, she slid into her heavy leather jacket and gloves, pulled on the leather hat and goggles that went with the whole effect. She wouldn't wear the whole outfit until tomorrow but she still would need this gear to keep her warm up in the air.

Clearance came through the radio and she acknowledged, throwing the switch to start the engine. It turned over the first time and the engine revved to life. Within seconds, she was ready for takeoff and already taxiing down the runway. With a slight shift to the stick as the speed increased the plane shot off the runway and climbed into the air. She smiled to herself. This was the thrill she loved, the joy of doing nothing but feeling free of all the worries that flooded the world below. Up here it was just her, the birds and the other daredevils that liked to break the laws of gravity.

She reached her altitude and leveled out, glad for the gear she'd donned earlier and turned the plane towards the southern side of Nevada towards Las Vegas.

One fuel stop later, Red arrived in the desert outside of Las Vegas where the airstrip had been recently cleared of all sand and debris and the track for the cars was also set up. The land to the north of the tracks and runway were already filled with many tents, trailers, people and noise. The south side of the tracks was where the large layout of planes sat. There were jets, planes, choppers and several different kinds of vintage aircraft lined up. The cars were basically kept with the show's tents until they were to come out and show off their stuff.

She got the clearance to land and she brought the plane in for a gentle landing, slowing it down once it hit pavement. She taxied to the place indicated by radio after she checked in and with a little flourish she got the plane up to the spot and spun it around so that all she had to do was push it into place. That was all the energy she had for showing off today. She was frozen and hungry. Though she loved to fly, this was not her favorite way to do it when the weather was starting to turn towards fall.

She shut down the engine and pulled herself up in the cockpit and turned so she could unload her gear from the back before she had to push the plane back. She didn't know if Rachelle had been watching the skies for her arrival but she expected to be on her own unless otherwise noted. She tossed out the army duffle bag and then pulled out a sports bag of gear that she carefully lowered to the ground.

She climbed out herself and the heat of the desert sands from that day made her just want to lay down and spread out in the heat for awhile to get her fingers and face to function again. She pulled her gear to the side and got out of the jacket and goggles then went to the landing wheels and began pushing it back into its slot. She felt the Steerman move but then it suddenly moved smoother and easier than it had before. She looked over to see a young man helping her. She kept pushing though until it was in place and then she stood up and brushed her hands off when she got out from under the plane.

"Thanks!" she said, holding her hand out to him.

He shook it and nodded, smiling a little as he looked the plane over, "You're welcome. Saw you come in. Nice plane."

She nodded, "Thanks. You here for the air or road part of the show?" she asked, her brain trying to register where she had seen his face before. She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew this guy or at least had met him before.

He shrugged a little and ran a hand through his hair, "I'm here to be a spectator and check things out," he said. He looked at her, "I'm Michael Bridges. I work for a small subsidiary of Universal Studios, here to check out flight companies," he stated.

She smiled a little as she shouldered her bag and duffle. "It's nice to meet you Michael. I'm Cheyenne Hawkes. I own Stars and Stripes Air Service out of Van Neuys, California." She smiled at him a little. "Listen, I've got to go check in. I'd be happy to talk about things later if you want to stop by but I'm half frozen and starving."

She didn't want to be rude but she was honest. She wasn't worried about making business contacts right now. Her only desire was that of a warm shower, hot meal and a bed for a nap.

He flushed a little, "Sorry. Didn't mean to keep you like this. I'll stop by later at your tent and we can talk some more." With that, he stepped aside to let her walk past and head off towards the tents.

She nodded, "Sounds good. See you later," she said.

Giving him a glance over her shoulder, she swore he looked like someone she'd seen before, but whom or where, she couldn't remember. He didn't put off 'bad vibes' as Erica liked to call them but there was something about him that tickled the back of her mind. Shrugging to herself, she headed across the tarmac and towards the registration tent where she quickly checked in and headed towards the Stars and Stripes display tent. .

Rachelle wasn't there but Lex was and he waved her in. "Hey! How's it going?" she asked as she clasped hands with him.

He was smiling. "Well we got here early this morning and got everything set up," he said as he indicated the inside of the tent. It was a 'work of art' so to speak. The inside had been painted to match the choppers they had with the red, white and blue. There were two long tables set up and draped to cover them to the floor. On top of them were posters and pictures of their facilities, their aircraft and their logo with a quick summary in a few short words as to what they did and where they were located.

Another poster had a logo on it for the 'Bone Yard' Vintage Aircraft Services. It was a drawing of a skeleton figure in a pose like you'd see a woman painted on the side of a plane in WWII. It had had been painted in a short dress that was a v-neck to show cleavage and heels. It had blonde hair done up in the period style and a flight cap cocked to one side. The name of the business was painted over the top of the skeleton at a curve as well as the underside in some form of cursive script.

Under the logo were pictures of the Huey, the Steerman, several of their other aircraft they had and her standing in full costume next to the Steerman. She blushed a little as she looked it over again. She looked at Lex, "Who designed the logo?" she asked

Lex chuckled, "A couple of us guys and then Rachelle took the best ideas and gave them to an artist for a concept design. It came back looking just like that and we decided to keep it. Hope you don't mind but it's very…eye catching," he teased.

She snorted, "I should say so. But, it's cool. Where's Rachelle? I need to get this stuff unloaded and talk to her for a few minutes."

Lex smirked, "She's probably at the camper we rented. She said it's the sixth one down on the third row. I'm sure she put up a magnetic decal on the door so it shouldn't be too hard to miss."

She patted Lex on the back. "You guys done good. Let's just hope tomorrow can bring us more business or at least a few contacts on where to get a hold of other vintage aircraft."

Lex nodded and smiled. He was one of the guys that had been around for a time and had served in the military during the Vietnam War. He was one of the lucky ones to get out of there without too many issues but she still teased him that he was one crazy redneck. He was the one that often flew the Huey when she wasn't around but he also had a knack for fixing things.

She waved to him and headed out to find their camper.


	4. Chapter 4

*Thank you for your kind reviews so far. I'm trying to continue this story, edit what I have. I've changed this a little from when I first wrote this part of the story. Things are still a little slow for the next chapter or so but I promise it will begin to pick up.

**Chapter 4**

A quick wash up, a chat with Rachelle and a change of clothes, found Red yawning. Rachelle pushed a bowl of warm soup in front of her and then ordered her to bed to nap for a few hours. She wanted to be up for a chance to look around before the event started.

This was her one evening when she'd get a chance to walk around and look at all the booths and such. It was the night before the 'party' that everyone pretty much opened their booths up and showed off their stuff to the other exhibitors there. Many times it was just a time to talk shop with those that shared similar interests and understood the issues of the industry.

When she woke, Rachelle was gone. After getting herself around, she left the trailer and walked along some of the rows as she nodded to people she'd met in the industry, not really stopping to talk to them. She knew that Lex and Rachelle would get more conversation than she ever would just by sitting at their tent.

The next morning brought windows that needed to be scraped off many of the cars. Rachelle found it hard to get Red up and moving. She complained about her joints and bones aching from the cold. Finally Rachelle bribed her with hot coffee and a hot shower to get her out of bed. The coffee got her more awake and the shower was able to get her body temperature back up to normal.

Rachelle then left and headed to the tent to start the day and get things opened up for the incoming crowds that were expected. After the shower, she got dressed in the outfit that would match the time period of the Steerman, including boots, pants, sweater, jacket, leather cap and goggles. When she looked at Lex who was waiting for her, he tried to not laugh but he couldn't help himself. He quickly left the camper, followed by a shoe that had been chucked his way.

They got to the field and got their call sheet for the day. They were third on the list to fly that morning and it would be around 10am that she needed to be ready to take off. With an hour to spare, they went over to the Steerman and began to strip the cover off of it. With a quick examination of everything to make sure nothing had been tampered with, they grabbed rags and buffing compound to give it a good cleaning and shine before they had to fuel her for her run.

The announcer was busy introducing the first flight to take off. Red took a few minutes to watch his routine and seemed impressed by the overall handling of the bomber that was being put through its paces. It landed by the time she and Lex got most of the exterior wiped down and buffed, bringing out the beautiful red glossy shine to it. They heard the next plane announced and who was piloting. She recognized most of the names on the list by discussions and reading up on the industry. She motioned to Lex to head over to the Huey. They had a call tomorrow for it with the rest of the more modern military display and she wanted to see how it was looking.

A quick check of the chopper showed it was still there and she nodded, "I like." She pointed to the numbers and information on the side of it, "Your info from Vietnam?" she asked.

He shook his head, "No. Your dad and your uncles." He stated. She stared at him for a long moment then looked back at the numbers again. She finally turned a little and gave him a big, one armed hug. "Thanks," she said as they knew they needed to head back to the Steerman. On the way back, they passed a GeeBee plane that had a 'For Sale' sign on it. Her eyes were immediately drawn to it and she looked it over quickly before Lex reminded her she had to get ready for her flight. She made a mental note of the information on the owner and asked Lex to track them down while she was up in the air. Once back at the Steerman, she climbed in and Lex pulled the chalks. He moved away and gave her the thumbs up that she was good to go.

She hit the switch and the motor turned once. With a slight sigh, she knew the Steerman was feeling the cold this morning like she was. She gave it a touch more gas and kicked the motor over. It gave a little cough and then roared to life. She let it sit and idle for a few minutes as Lex moved up to give it one last look over. When he gave her the all's clear signal, she revved the engine a bit and the plane pulled out of its spot and she checked her flaps before heading to the airfield.

She pulled on her gloves as she was directed by the site crew where she needed to be. She pulled smoothly into her spot and waited. Soon the jet that had taken off landed and after turning and being directed off the other end of the runway, Red looked over the crowd that was lined up along the runway. She was actually shocked at the number of people out 'this early' and she scanned the sea of faces.

Finally she was given the signal to head into the air to do her thing. She pulled down her goggles, sinched her gloves and gave the engine more gas before pulling back on the stick and letting the plane begin its taxi down the runway. Within moments, the plane was already jumping for the sky as she pulled back on the stick and the Steerman shot towards the great blue yonder.

This was her time to shine and she was going to play it up for every ounce it was worth…within reason and safety of course. She headed upward and then did a flip over. She dove for the airstrip and came about head level to the runway as she flew by the crowd at an amazing speed. She could even hear some of the cheers as she climbed skyward again. She zipped back and forth across the runway doing spins, upside down flight, turns and twists in mid-air. She finally saw the signal flag that it was time to land. She brought it in for a perfect landing and then swung the plane around easily to head toward the lineup. She could hear the people cheering over the noise of the engine and she gave them a salute before turning and being directed back to her spot.

She climbed out as Lex put the chalks back under the wheels and she got the out of the cockpit. Lex just shook his head at her. "Your lips are blue…," he stated evenly before breaking into a laugh.

With a snort, she said with chattering teeth, "No shit Sherlock," and headed back towards the crowd. She had to go do an audience meet and greet for the next hour and answer questions. As she reached the tent where she was supposed to sit, she found Michael Bridges standing next to the tent holding a ceramic mug of something hot and steaming. "Something hot to warm you up," he said, with a smile.

Red's hands reached towards the ceramic mug and they closed around the hot surface and she let out a little moan of pleasure. She held it up to her face to let the steam heat up her nose a little, "You are a god."

Michael chuckled. "I can't even imagine being in an open cockpit plane, much less during the time of the morning when it's still so cold," he said as he followed Red over to where she was to sit and answer questions or talk shop with others who had seen her performance. He watched as Red entered the tent and stopped short, looking shocked at the number of people standing in line to talk to her.

Red blinked a couple of times, her hands still wrapped around the mug. Michael swore that Red looked like she wanted to turn and flee. But she pushed her shoulders back a little and smiled gently to those waiting. "Hi. Sorry for the delay. I'm a bit of a human popsicle at the moment."

The onlookers laughed at her bit of a joke. Red looked at the long line of people and finally stood up on a chair, "Why don't all of you come in here if you can. I'll take questions from you and that way everyone can hear the answers. Afterwards, I'll be happy to answer any other questions individually." She smiled at those in the front who spread out in front of the table and when everyone seemed to have entered the tent, she blinked a little at the sheer number of people. She took a step up to the top of the table. "Wow...Either I was a hit or you guys are all in the wrong place."

She heard several people chuckle at that. She got on with it asking for questions. When the next pilot came in, she had answered at least twenty questions and she blushed a little, looking embarrassed at the other pilot. She got a round of applause and she quickly announced that she'd be doing other demonstration during the weekend and where their display tent could be found. Then she introduced the other pilot and turned things over to him.

She climbed down and left the tent, standing outside in the sun for a few minutes, she realized that Michael was nowhere to be found. Before she could think on it much, she had several young kids come up and ask for autographs. She smiled and signed whatever they had wanted her to sign. Several other people got her attention and asked a few more questions that she obliged by answering. Several people wanted to shake her hand and tell her how fun her part of the show was to watch.

By the time she made it to the display tent, she was about half crazy with dealing with the crowds. Over the course of the hour she'd been answering questions, the show really had taken off and it was almost impossible to get through the crowds that were packed into the isles between display tents. She had several people stop and ask her for her picture since she was still in her 'uniform' for the plane. Her cheeks were quite flushed with embarrassment by the time she got settled behind the table.

Rachelle could only laugh at her. She got a glare in return. "This is torture Rachelle. I'm still not thawed out from going up this morning. My throat's sore from talking so much. Never talked so much in my life," she stated and slouched in her chair.

Rachelle and Lex could only laugh. The crowd in the tent was flowing fairly well and they were constantly putting out more flyers and brochures. Rachelle looked over at Red when she grew quiet for a time and found her arms crossed over her chest, her feet planted on the ground and her head hanging down over her chest. She would have told her to go take a nap in the trailer but she didn't have the heart to wake her.


	5. Chapter 5

**A little note on this chapter. This one is pure fluff. It's a little bit of a cross over from one of the movies on my 'favorite' list. I'm sure those of you that recognize where it comes from will get a kick out of it, for those of you that don't….its' from the movie 'The Rocketeer'. Enjoy!

**Chapter 5**

Red's eyes flew open when someone touched her shoulder. Her eyes looked left then right. Her muscles were bunched up for the fight or flight reaction until she saw that it was Rachelle. She let out the breath she was holding and blinked her eyes a bit more awake. Rachelle was used to her waking like this by now so she simply had left her hand on Red's shoulder until she had relaxed.

Red rubbed her eyes. "Yeah?" she asked in a half mumble.

Rachelle took her hand off Red's shoulder, "You have company. Something about a GeeBee?" she said.

Red ahh'd and stood up, stretching before looking where Rachelle was indicating. An older man stood there, roughly in his late 70's, maybe 80's. The man approached and held out his hand, "I'm Cliff. I got a message that you were interested in looking at my GeeBee that I have for sale."

Red smiled and nodded, "Yes. I'm Cheyenne Hawke but you can call me Red. I saw the For Sale sign and I was interested in knowing more."

Cliff smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Why don't we head out to the air field. If you want, I can arrange for you to take her up for a bit of test flying during an open spot." He went over to the edge of the open tent doorway and indicated for Red to go before him like a perfect gentleman. He walked with a cane but he had a bit of a distinguished look about him.

Red smiled and nodded her head towards him in acceptance. She looked over her shoulder at Rachelle and gave her a nod before she ducked out into the crowded walkway. She waited for Cliff to join up with her and the two walked at his pace through the crowds. She spoke up when she saw a golf cart go by, "Want me to flag down a cart to give us a ride to the air field?" she asked.

He shook his head, "I'm enjoying the walk with such a beautiful woman," he said with a teasing look in his eyes as he gave her a glance. He saw her cheeks turn pink but he kept walking.

She was silent for part of the walk until they got closer to the air field. He finally asked her what seemed to be a casual question, "What do you know about GeeBee's?"

Red walked along next to him and gave him the specs she could remember, including the fact that they often crashed because they were such a small plane with a heavy engine in the front and how one wrong move could off balance during landing, causing the GB to take a nose-dive into the dirt. She was rewarded for her information when Cliff laughed heartily.

"Truer words were never spoken," he stated. "When I was a young man, I used to race them. They have spirit and spunk but are a handful if you don't treat them right. There's not many of this type of plane left." He walked casually on as they headed to the booth of flight schedules. "I dumped a few on their noses during my time as a pilot." He walked into the scheduling tent and after a few minutes, got permission to allow Red to go up in the plane within an hour.

Once that was settled, Cliff joined her back outside and gave her the sheet with her time on it. The two walked slowly through the planes and Cliff asked to see her Steerman that he saw her flying earlier that morning. She smiled with a quiet blush and took him back towards the row that the plane was sitting. He gently ran a hand along the prop and then down along the side to the wing. He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before looking back at her.

"I see you take very good care of your aircraft. I wouldn't sell my GB to anyone that didn't have an affection for these old ladies."

She let a small smile of pride escape her lips, "I do my best to preserve the past. I hope others appreciate the joys of seeing them still in the air and remember the modest beginnings we had compared to what's out there now. These old girls 'talk' to me," she said as she looked at the Steerman with affection, "But this one can be a stubborn old thing when she wants…especially when it comes to repairs."

Cliff chuckled and gave the plane a longing look and then motioned for her to follow him. "I used to know a man like that many years ago. He was a genius when it came to being able to tell what was wrong with a machine, even if it wasn't obvious." He grew quiet then, a slight touch of sadness having crept into his face.

They walked from row to row until they came to the GeeBee, sitting in the sun, the white paint with black designs on it still looking new. He motioned for her to take a closer look.

She moved around the plane slowly, her fingers trailing over the metal and paint. She seemed in a half trance as she continued to walk carefully around it, taking in everything. When she came over to the side of the plane near the cockpit, she looked up to see the words: 'Pilot: Cliff Secord' painted under the window.

She looked over at the old man, "This was your racer, wasn't it." She put a hand up against the housing of the engine as she watched him.

He smiled and nodded, "She was the last plane I flew and I haven't flown in 40 years. I have managed to keep her in decent repair and condition, but she hasn't been airborn since I took my last flight in it … 1968. She was given to me in 1941 by Howard Hughes," he said with a proud smile.

Red walked slowly over to him, "You're serious?" she asked.

Cliff nodded, "Yup. I had it shipped out here and though I've started her up and let her run, I just don't have the ability to take her in the air anymore." He looked at the plane fondly. "She won me many races and we had several adventures together, but it's not the fate of a plane to sit unused and grounded. I've been hoping to find the right person to fly her and after watching you this morning, I knew I'd found them. When your man came to find me, I was certain it was fate," he said evenly.

Red's face turned a bright red with half pride, half embarrassment at his words. "Are you sure?" she asked, touching the plane again, trailing her fingers along the wing.

He nodded, "I'm an old man, older than I look. I want to make sure she's in good hands before I get to a point in my life that I can't and it's up to someone who doesn't understand the link between a pilot and their plane." He smiled as he leaned on his cane.

Red was quiet for a long moment. She would be taking a fairly big risk by going up in a plane she didn't own, in a plane that hadn't been flown in 40 years. She looked it over again, just standing there, taking in every detail. Finally she looked at Cliff, "You sure you want me to take her up?"

Cliff nodded, "I have insurance on her and if something happens, it will still be my responsibility. But if you get her up there and get her back down, she's yours at my requested price and a promise you'll keep this old girl in good shape." He held out a hand towards her.

She blinked at him and then smiled brightly, taking his hand and shaking it. He had a firm grip for an older man. She gave him a nod, "I'll do my best to make sure she's taken care of as she should be and I'd be honored to give her a test flight to see how she does."

Cliff nodded and let go of her hand, looked at his watch. "Looks like you should get her started up and get ready to take her up." He motioned towards the plane.

She nodded and went over, climbing up onto the wing as the old man began to place chalks under the wheels to keep it where it should be until she was ready to go. She slid open the cockpit cover and looked inside. The inside was as immaculate as the outside. She slowly slid in and settled in the seat. She was quiet for a moment as she got a feeling for the machine.

She slid her cap on and her goggles. She kicked the engine over and let the thrum of the engine vibrate through her entire body. She closed her eyes and 'listened' with all of her senses to the growl of the engine as the whole thing warmed up and fluids pumped through it to the appropriate places. She opened her eyes and looked over at Cliff.

She smiled like a madwoman and gave him the thumbs up as she slid the canopy closed over the cockpit and locked it down. She checked gauges and flaps as Cliff pulled out the chalks and stepped away from the plane. She could almost feel the little plane want to lunge skyward now but she kept a stiff hand on the controls.

She pulled a little back on the control stick and revved the engine enough that it pulled out of its spot and slowly taxied down the isle. She got into the appropriate spot and watched the signal flags as she waited for her turn to go up. While she waited, she called Rachelle's phone.

Rachelle answered, "What's up Red?" she asked.

"Me…pretty soon. Might want to step out and look skyward in a few moments. With any luck, I've got me a new plane and a rare one at that," she said, sounding like a little kid in a toy store.

She could hear Rachelle laughing at her. "All right. Be safe," was all she said as she hung up.

Red shoved the phone into a pocket again and buttoned it down. She saw the flags give her the cue to take off. She looked over to the left and saw Cliff standing just inside the first row of planes. She gave him a salute and she saw him respond. She had his blessing and there was nothing keeping her from the skies.

She moved the GB out to the runway and she pulled back on the control stick, feeling the little plane rev as it sped up to taxi down the runway. She was airborne in the matter of moments and the world dropped away and she shot into the wild blue yonder for the second time that day.

She took a deep breath as she felt the energy of the plane flow through her. She had connected sooner with this plane than any of the others she had flown recently. The slightest touch to the stick made it respond. Cliff wasn't kidding when he said he'd kept it in good repair. She circled the plane around and came in for another pass of the airstrip.

She slowly put it through its paces, starting with simple turns, ups and downs and upside downs. She gave it a bit more energy and she took off, the engine rumbling smoothly under her. She smiled as she came in for a signature sweep past the landing strip at head level and then pulled back on the stick to head straight up, spinning the plane as she did. She put it through her full paces before her signal flag came out to tell her it was time to come in and let someone else up into the air.

Now was the moment of truth to see if she could land the little plane. She came in for a last turn and brought the RPM's down as she feathered the props and slowed down to a gentle pace. As the front wheels touched, she gave the control stick just a little nudge back to keep the plane from getting away from her and take a nose dive. She put on full flaps and she came to an easy stop at the end of the runway. She followed the signal flags to where she was to come off the tarmac. She taxied back to the spot where she had pulled out and saw both Lex and Cliff waiting for her.

She pulled around and got the tail pointed into the stall before she shut the engine down. She pulled the cockpit window back after unlocking it and stood up with a bit of a shout of joy. Lex clapped and Cliff gave her a thumb up. Red climbed out and hopped down and helped push it back into place.

She turned to Cliff when she was done, "Well, how did she look?" she asked.

Cliff smiled sadly at her, "She looked fantastic. Made me wish I could have been the one behind the stick again. She's found her new pilot I think." He grinned at her and pulled out a set of papers from his pocket. "Here's the papers. I just need them signed for title transfer," he said.

Red looked at him and carefully took the papers, "Why don't you come back to our camper where we can sit and talk and take care of all this?" she asked.

He shook his head, "We will need a witness and I know we can find that at the controllers table."

She looked a little saddened but she nodded and Lex handed Red something, "Rachelle knew within moments of you going airborne that you'd want it. She gave me a check to give to you to fill out," he stated quietly.

She took the blank check Lex handed her and nodded, tucking it into her pocket. "I'll be back at the tent in a little bit," she said to Lex as they parted ways. She looked back at Cliff and nodded to him. The two of them headed along at a pace he set. It was quiet for the walk as he offered her his arm like a gentleman and she accepted. She had removed her hat and goggles and walked casually beside him. They finally arrived at the controllers tent where the papers were signed, witnessed and Red filled out the check.

When the deal was done and everything was official, Red tucked the papers away in her jacket. Cliff held out his hand. "Thank you Red. I know she's in good hands." He smiled sadly at her.

Red took the hand and shook it, then reached in and pulled out a card from her pocket and handed it to him. "If you ever want to see her again or want to go for a ride in the Steerman or …if there's anything I can do for you, call me. I will help in any way I can."

Cliff took the card and nodded, looking at it then tucking it away in his jacket pocket. "Well, Miss Hawke, I take my leave of you. Be kind to my lady and take care of yourself," he said with a gentle smile. He patted her on the arm and slowly walked out of the tent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Red remained where she was for a few moments, still wondering how in the span of a few hours, she became the new owner of a classic GB in excellent shape. She finally headed out of the tent and made her way towards the Stars and Stripes tent. She decided to change course and head towards the camper and change into something a little less conspicuous. She needed to put those papers in a safe place as well.

An hour later as she made her way towards the display tent, her mind was still buzzing around about being the owner of one of the only truly original GeeBee's in existence. Those that flew today were replicas and models. If what Cliff said was true, this model was a one of a kind. She'd have to do a little more research when she got back home but for now, she had just gone for the ride of her life today…and it was only Friday.

She walked through the crowds that were beginning to thin and made it to her tent in relatively good time. She smiled at Rachelle who just shook her head and sighed. "How could I guess," was all she could say. "Now I have to figure out how to get it back north."

Red looked around a little, "Rachelle, calm down. We'll send for one of the guys to catch a ride that knows how to fly the Huey and Lex can fly the Steerman back."

Rachelle sighed, "Fine. I'll call the hanger tomorrow and get one of the guys down here on Sunday morning." She knew it was worth it but she loved giving Red a hard time.

"So, what do you want to do for supper? If you're willing to watch the table, I was thinking I could run into town for some Chinese or Italian take-out," she offered. "I can time it so that you guys will be back to the trailer by the time I get back. Think you can manage to 'lock' up for the night?" she teased.

Red looked at Lex who looked back at Rachelle and suddenly hunched over, one shoulder pushed up and his arms hanging limply at his side. He got this twisted look on his face as he grunted out, "Yes, mistress…"

Red couldn't help but laugh at that and Rachelle threw a balled up piece of paper at her with a mock glare. Red held up her hands, "Ok ok. I give. Chinese sounds wonderful. Rice noodles if they have them."

Lex nodded, "General Tao's Chicken for me," he said, liking his food spicy and hot.

Rachelle chuckled and headed out the door, disappearing into the 'street' outside and moved towards the parking lot for their rental car. Red looked over at Lex and both settled in for a little while longer. Things didn't close down officially till 6pm and they still had a good hour to go.

Lex was latching the walls onto the tent supports with Red holding them in place until he was ready to move to the next section. They had gotten all but one done when Michael came into the tent after peeking his head in to give a cordial hello.

"Michael," said Red as she finished holding up the last piece for Lex. "What brings you here?" A little smile had formed at the corners of her mouth showing she didn't mind seeing him again.

Michael was dressed in a three piece suit of a dark gray and a casual blue tie over a white shirt. He had sandy brown hair that was cut and styled in the most current of fashion and it looked good on him. His blue eyes showed against his sun tanned face and he was of a slender but sturdy build.

"Well, I was hoping to take you out for supper and a drink. Seems my company is interested in hiring you to do some work for them," he said with a little grin that creased the skin around the corners of his mouth.

Red stood there a moment and looked at him as the ramifications of what he'd just said began to sink in. A movie company…wanting to hire them. It was almost too much to hope for. This could be their one big break they needed to get well and truly back on the map.

"Really? I mean, that's fantastic." She looked at him for a long moment then smiled, looking at Lex who was grinning like a madman. "I guess I better go back and change then. I don't think you want me to be seen in public in jeans and a t-shirt under a flight jacket.

Michael chuckled, "How about I pick you up at your trailer in half an hour. Will that be enough time for you to get ready?"

She chuckled, "I think so. See you in thirty." With that, she watched as Michael wave a slight wave and then headed out of the tent.

Lex nudged her, "Hey now, no funny business with him. You got Sam, remember?"

She blinked at him, "Huh?" she said in confusion and then it dawned on her, "Oh for Christ sake Lex. Michael's too hoity toity for me. But hey, free supper and drinks. Be nice to be wined and dined for a change. It's part of the business I guess."

Lex sighed and shrugged, "All right, off with you. I'll be there in a bit. Just make sure you wear something nice enough to impress him that you're a lady and not a tom boy."

Reaching over, Red smacked Lex upside his head. "Yes daaaad…," she mocked as she ducked under the tent wall, only peeking back in to grow, "…and don't eat my rice noodles. I'll save those for lunch tomorrow." With that she headed to the trailer in a trot.

Good to his word, Michael was there half an hour later and with a limo to boot. Red had found her black evening dress to get changed into once she'd done a quick pinup of her hair. The dress was something she'd had made for her. It looked elegant enough but covered her scars from the crash. She'd had trouble finding a nice evening dress that didn't expose some of the burned skin or ragged or ugly pink scars. It also allowed her to conceal her small 22mm bobcat pistol.

She never went anywhere without a gun anymore unless she was alone, but even then, there was one usually close at hand. The bobcat was just small enough for her to wear comfortably and keep it hidden from casual observation. It was strapped to her thigh in an upside down holster for easy draw.

Michael gave a handsome smile, "You are constantly amazing me. I didn't realize we'd be looking to hire such a beautiful woman as well as a talented pilot," he said, charming her as he held open the back door to the limo.

Red flushed at the compliment and allowed him to hand her into the limo, sliding over as he got in after she was settled and seated himself next to her. The door was shut and the limo started off at a slow roll, picking up speed as it got past most of the trailers. Pulling out into the Las Vegas streets, she turned to look at him then at the sights of all the neon.

"I know of this little restaurant not far from here. It serves the best Italian. Interested?" Michael asked as they rolled past the casinos and hotels on the strip.

She chuckled, "I'd like that. So, why Stars and Stripes Air Services Michael?" she asked, trying to open some conversation with what she was here for…business.

He held up a hand, "All in good time. You've had a hard couple of days I'd guess. Sit back and enjoy the view. We'll have plenty of time to discuss business after we've had a chance to eat." He smiled again, warmly it seemed as he gazed at her.

Red chuckled and settled into the seat as she turned to watch the sights as they streamed by. As she was admiring the fountain outside of the Paris Casino, she felt him lay a hand on her arm, his fingers entwining around her wrist and felt the sharp sting of something against the soft skin of the flesh there. "What the…," was all she had time to say as she reached for her gun, her head turning to look at Michael.

There was a cool look to his face, an intensity of purpose as he held to her wrist of the hand that was closest to the gun. "Don't reach for it Miss Hawkes," was all he said as she began to hear a roaring in her ears.

The lights of the Strip began to spin and dim. "What…the …hell…," was all she could manage to slur out before she felt her lose control of her limbs, unable to get them to respond to her command.

And then the world went away for awhile as she slipped into a soft black downy sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

*Hope you enjoy this chapter. This is where I began to seriously change what I had initially written. I like this way much better. Hope you like the little surprise at the end and would love to hear feedback.*

**Chapter 7**

Michael was shocked at how strong she was as she tried to pull her wrist away from him, her body tensing to strike at him. But he'd planned this well and he knew the drug now coursing through her blood would take quick effect. It would cause her to sleep for a time but also temporarily paralyze her. He didn't want to deal with the chance that she might come to and go at him before he'd had a chance to secure her.

When she finally slumped back into the seat, he took his hand away from her wrist, revealing a cylinder on his ring finger with a small needle protruding from it. He slid it off and pocketed it then carefully reached under her skirt and took off the gun rig and withdrew it, putting the hem of her skirt back down.

He wasn't a pervert and he didn't take advantage of a woman like this. It wasn't his style and he honestly had other things to do. He knocked on the window that divided the driver from the occupants in the back and it rolled down a little.

"Stop at the next parking lot so I can change seats. Then head to the helicopter. This won't keep her under forever."

"""""""""""""""""""""

Her brain was fuzzy. Why was it fuzzy? It was also very dark behind her eyelids. She had remembered having a strange dream about being in a helicopter and someone picking her up like a sack of potatoes. Was it a dream or … She groaned a little as her mind tried to make sense of the overload of sensations, memories and confusion that was coursing through her fuzzy brain.

She shifted her head, expecting to snuggle down into a pillow and that's when she encountered something against her face, fabric of some kind. It was rough and scratchy on both sides of her face as well as in front of her nose. She tried to lift a hand to take it off but felt the bite of something cold and metallic around her wrists that were keeping her hands at her sides, attached to…whatever she was sitting on.

Rattling the cuffs of both hands she got the distinct impression it was a thick metal chair and by how numb her ass was, she'd probably been sitting upright in it for a few hours at least. She stilled her movements and took inventory of herself. She was still dressed in her black dress, still had her heels on, her jewelry as well. The gun was gone as was the holster. She didn't feel sore or bruised anywhere and felt perhaps a little rested but the numbness of her rear and thus her legs made her shift to try and get comfortable.

She rattled her cuffs again, trying to listen to the sound it made echoing off any walls. There was no echo. It was as if the sound was absorbed or the room was so big that the minor sound of metal on metal didn't echo. After taking in all that she could, including opening her eyes to see if she could possibly see through whatever was over her head, Red finally called out.

"Hello?"

Her voice sounded muffled but there was a slight echo of it in the room. She had her answer. A warehouse or some other storage facility perhaps but most likely empty from the way the sound had come back to her.

"Hello?" she called again, trying to sound unshaken, relaxed, even a touch casual.

Nothing.

Fed up, she attempted to stand, to pick up the chair with the cuffs around her writs. She was jerked back into her chair by her wrist restraints as it was obvious that the chair was somehow attached to the floor. Next she took off a shoe and felt the floor. It was concrete, cool from the night. She moved her foot around. At least in her area it was clean. Lifting her foot she felt around for anything in her vicinity. Nothing but air and floor.

Next she attempted to scrape the hood off of her head by rubbing it on the back of her chair but it had been tied shut around her neck where it wasn't easily accessible. Red sat there for a few minutes working things through in her mind. Finally, she slipped her toes into the tip of her shoe and with one well placed kick upward that brought her leg up almost parallel with her body, she flipped her shoe backwards behind her chair.

It struck something and that something cursed…and was followed by someone else chuckling in a low tone.

Her heart was racing now. Someone was in here with her. Footsteps came towards her, two sets. One was a bit out of step, though with the bag covering her ears and her heart racing it was hard to make out why it sounded that way.

She felt someone's hands at the back of her head, untying the bag and though it wasn't removed, she felt those same hands at her right wrist unlocking her cuff. As soon as it was free she wrenched her hand away and grabbed at the bag to pull it off, ready to fight even though she was still attached to the chair by her left wrist.

She blinked as her eyes tried to adjust to the intensity of the light from a lamp not more than ten feet in front of her. A man stood in the dark behind it and she was having problems making out details.

"Who are you!" Red demanded.

The voice that answered was as smooth as rich cream, a touch of merriment, yet sadness to it. "An old friend of your fathers."

"What's your name?" she growled. She'd lifted a hand to try and shade her eyes from the intense light focused on her. She still couldn't see much about the man that was in the shadows.

Finally movement from him brought a hand into view that turned the lamp away and towards the floor. When her eyes were able to blink away the spots the lamp had left in her field of vision, she saw an older man, perhaps in his sixties.

He carried himself with an air of authority and pride though he had obviously had some form of accident years ago that had scared him. He was dressed in a casual suit of tan colored linen pants, a matching loose linen suit jacket and white shirt opened a little at the neck. He wore white canvas boat shoes and a straw panama hat.

One lens of his set of glasses was blacked out as if for someone who was missing an eye and he carried a cane that he leaned on just slightly. His face had more wrinkles than the pictures of him she'd seen but she knew in an instant just who this was.

Michael Coldsmith Briggs the Third….also known as…Archangel.

She whispered the first words that came to mind.

"Holy shit…"


	8. Chapter 8

_**((Greetings my few but faithful followers! My brain, for some reason, has begun to slowly awaken from its long slumber and I have started thinking about this story again. Now, this doesn't mean I've got a ton more written but I do have two more chapters and working on a third. They might be a touch slow since I'm getting back into the swing of writing in this world again. But hopefully you'll enjoy!**_

_**But here's where someone can help me out a little! The year is roughly (I figure) 2010. I need a computer geek/genius from a TV series. A free lancer perhaps - Someone who could be 'stolen' from another series and transplanted in this world? It can be anyone from 80's, 90's or 2000's shows so long as they seem the kind to keep up or ahead of technology. Anyone have some suggestions? (I'm sure you can put two and two together to get what's coming in the future but I'm drawing blanks as to whom might fit.)**_

_**Anyway, enjoy and PLEASE review.))**_

**Chapter 8**

Archangel chuckled slightly at her shocked expression. He looked to the left as the man she knew as Michael Bridges went over and unlocked the cuff from her left wrist. He stepped quickly away to avoid any possible retaliation.

Red was still staring at the 'dead' man that she hardly noticed she was now free.

Finally Michael walked towards Archangel and she could finally see the resemblance. The only difference was the fact that there was no facial hair on the younger man or glasses. It changed his features just enough that he wasn't easily recognized as being related to Archangel.

Finally she stood up, rubbing her wrists as Archangel came over and handed her the shoe she'd kicked off earlier. "Excuse the dramatics but we didn't want to take chances that you'd become…unwilling to go with my son to somewhere other than a restaurant."

Red hesitantly took her high heeled shoe and dropped it on the floor, then slid her foot into it after righting it with a toe. "Yeah, well…can you blame me?" she snapped a little, glaring at the younger man. "With all that's happened in the past two years, I've learned to be a little paranoid."

Archangel smirked, an expression she knew from the pictures on the wall of the cabin. The only difference was the added wrinkles and lines to his face and the gray mustache. "Well since we were so rude as to deprive you of your dinner, I believe we can remedy that oversight." His hand raised slightly to indicate for her to look behind her.

As she did, turning just enough to look while still keeping a wary eye on the two men, she saw a table set for three with fine white linen, china plates and wine goblets. There was a bright light shining down on the table that left the rest of the surrounding area in shadowed darkness. She looked back at them and raised an eyebrow. "I've got one question…," she said with a low, dangerous tone to her voice.

The older man raised an eyebrow. That tone brought back memories of Hawke and how he would speak in that similar tone, especially when he was angry. "Go on."

Red looked to the son and then the father, "Why?"

Archangel nearly choked as he let out a little chuckle, "Why?" he responded. "That's a very difficult question to answer especially when one needs to know exactly what 'why' you're referring to. Why am I not dead? Why did we bring you here? Why the pretence?"

"Exactly," she snapped. "So seems to be many whys and no answers."

Michael sighed finally, "Red, come. Let's sit down and have some supper. We can talk about it as we eat. You're probably hungry and it's not helping you're attitude any."

She whirled on him, "You two better have a damned good reason for all of this or you'll find out what it feels like to have my fist shoved down your throat."

Michael held his hands up, "Whoa! Seriously, calm down. Let's eat and we'll talk. If you don't like what you hear I'm sure you'll have plenty of reasons to exact retribution later."

Archangel had walked over to the table and was holding out one of the chairs. "Miss Hawke, please. All will be explained in due time."

With a sigh of resignation though her eyes were still narrowed in anger, she made her way towards the chair and sat down, allowing Archangel to seat her properly like a gentleman. Within moments of her being seated Michael had set out several platters of food on the table and a bottle of wine. Once everyone was seated and food was dished out, Red waited for a few moments until the other two had begun to eat. She wasn't taking chances. Once they had taken several bites and swallowed what they'd taken, she finally relaxed enough to eat herself.

As the meal carried on in silence, she took time to get a good look at both men and they, her. When dessert was served, she sat back in her chair, still not having touched the wine or the dessert.

"Alright, we've eaten. Now…why?" she asked again, keeping her tone neutral.

Archangel sat back, crossing one leg over the other. "Well, for one thing. Once your father and Santini were both dead, I was expendable. You're father had left me with only a few clues as to how to find Airwolf and when I couldn't deliver the equipment after their deaths, I heard through my own network of informants that I was next on the list to be eliminated. I had to work fast, putting contingency plans into place as well as setting up enough capital and resources to keep me alive. Since I never knew when the hit might take place, I had to be prepared for just about anything at any time."

Shifting some in his seat, he swirled the wine around in his glass. "I'd found out a year earlier that I had a son and it changed my outlook on things. I'd hidden him away as well and had taken precautionary measures to ensure he wasn't found out or they might try to use him as leverage against me. I was brought the information that I was to be killed in a chopper accident and took to having basically a stunt double of me flown around. Merella was insistent of being the one to fly 'me' around, saying it wouldn't work if we had two people sitting in for us. Unfortunately it cost her, her life. When news came of the helicopter crash, I went into hiding along with my son."

She looked over at Michael as he fiddled with his dessert. He looked back up at her and smiled a little. Still keeping her face passive, she turned her head to look back at the older man.

"So, you went into hiding…then what?" she asked, trying to keep things moving along.

Archangel sighed, "Even through all my planning and scheming, I never stopped looking for Airwolf. In the end, I had nothing to guarantee my continued existence in the world of espionage or exact revenge for Hawke and Santini. For awhile after my 'accident' I continued to look but had no luck finding her and I finally gave up the chase. To this day, I have nothing more than those few clues and they don't add up to much."

She snorted slightly and rolled her eyes, her arms crossing over her chest. Her eyes flicked to look at Michael, "What about him? Have you made him into a little Spy Jr?"

Michael grimaced at that and shrugged, "What I told you is true. I work for a large film studio and I'm one of the people hired to go out and find companies to fill rolls and duties for certain films, such as stunt car drivers, chopper pilots or vintage aircraft owners and pilots for movies. But I also use my job and position to go places and gather information that is useful to certain elements that dad has contact with."

Red grit her teeth a little. She was quiet as she thought things over. They'd given her information but in the end, it really didn't tell her a whole lot. All she knew was that Archangel, no matter how 'dead' he was supposed to be was still a spy to his core and had taught his son how to spy for him.

Looking at Archangel finally she grumbles, "Why Airwolf then? Why now after all this time. It's obviously why I'm here. You want it for some reason. Leverage or blackmail?"

His one good eye grew cold as he focused on her. "Do you even know what that helicopter is? What it represents? It is the most advanced piece of hardware and engineering of its time and though it's technically fifteen years out of date, the systems on it were way before their time. The software alone was programmed to do things that other equipment is just now beginning to catch up with."

Red raised her eyebrow to show her disbelief though from her father's journal records she could just about believe him.

Archangel stood up and shifted against his cane as he walked around to stand behind his chair, restless. "The reason RedStar, aka 'The Firm' is still after it is because it holds secrets deep within its databanks, locked away by its creator, Moffet, that could expose them and bring their whole system crumbling down around their ears. Until they see the destruction of Airwolf or have it within their control, they will continue to search for it and eliminate anyone who stands in their way of getting it."

Michael looked over at Red, "So we have to ask you to be honest with us. Have you found it? Have you found any clue as to where Stringfellow might have hidden it?"

Looking down at her lap, she let her arms drop to shift the edge of her dress a little then looked up at the young man sitting across from her. "No, unfortunately. Hawke's journals end about three months before he was killed. He made mention of retrieving information off of some databanks and data files from previous downloads and stored them with Airwolf for safekeeping but that's the only mention that gave any clue he'd done anything with it out of the ordinary."

Both men seemed to deflate a little. Archangel stroked his mustache in a way that spoke of habit, possibly showing a hint of frustration.

"I've been all over that cabin, every piece of paperwork, inside every book, every nook and cranny. It was the same with the hanger. There was nothing that stood out as strange or seemed out of the ordinary to give me any idea of coded clues, messages or 'X' marks the spot. Wherever Hawke put Airwolf, I get the feeling it wasn't ever meant to be found again."

Both men were quiet now as they seemed lost in their own thoughts for a few moments. Michael was the first to break the silence. "Then it is best to leave things as they are and return you to your trailer and the air show. We would ask that you keep what you've learned here tonight to yourself, for your safety and ours."

Red had a feeling there was much more that wasn't being said but she had no desire to be involved with their game of cloak and dagger. She'd already been on the receiving end of the results of Red Star's suspicion and didn't want to experience it again. Next time might be the last.

Standing, she pushed in her chair. "Fine, just show me the door. I'll call a cab and get myself back."

Michael stood and shook his head. "We can't allow that. We don't want you to know where this place is. I'll have to ask you to put this on," he said as he stood up and held out a black hood.

Looking at the black material and then at Michael, her eyes flashed a little in anger. "You've got to be kidding."

He shook his head, "It's for the best and everyone's safety. Yours included."

Walking up to him, she glared up at him for a moment, then snatched the material out of his hand and looked it over. "I better be getting my pistol back when we get back to the air strip or next time I see you, I'll find a way to put a few holes in you with or without a gun."

She heard Archangel behind her try to smother a laugh and Michael blinked in surprise at her. "It's in the chopper and as soon as we touch down, it'll be the first thing I return to you."

Giving Michael one last look, she grumbled something under her breath about bastards and pulled the black fabric over her head. She felt the draw string pull it closed around her neck but it wasn't as tight as it could be. It just cut off any sight of the floor from her eyes looking down.

"I'll lead you over to the chopper and we'll be on our way," came Michael's voice, slightly muffled as she felt hands on her shoulders. They turned her slightly and as they did, she felt her balance tilt, her head spinning slightly. The hands steadied her, the sound of concern from coming Michael by her right shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something to him when she tasted the sickly sweetness of something in the air she'd inhaled at the back of her throat.

"Fu…," was all she could say as she felt her knees buckle and a pair of arms scoop her up before she could hit the floor. Clumsily throwing an arm out, she tried to free herself but nothing came of it as her arms were pulled in close to her sides.

"Hate..ou," she managed to mumble through the fabric as her body began to relax.

"I'm sorry my dear. It really is for your own good you don't know where this place is...," came Archangels voice as if from a distant hill.


	9. Chapter 9

_**((Slow chapter is slow (and a jump off point to the next phase) but it will begin to pick up from here as I sluggishly begin to pick up this story again. Reviews fuel the fire and the fact that I still have people following this story even to this day…which dumbfounds and amazes me. Thanks guys. It's very humbling and exciting, all mashed into one big ball of 'cool'.))**_

**Chapter 9**

Her dreams slid this way and that from one strange event to another. The scent of pine and sandstone were faint in her nose as they swept away fears of enclosure by the sensation of flying high above the rugged peaks of some far off mountain range. Sounds of choppers and planes drifted within hearing distance but she never saw them, only sensed their power within her.

Then silence, like the early morning hours just before the birds heralded the first rays of dawn. She was hunting something, her footsteps barely upon the ground as she crept from cover to cover, watching and waiting for her prey to expose itself. What she was hunting, she had no idea but it was just the sense that something was barely within her sights.

An explosive noise erupted from behind her, loud enough to cause her to come awake in an instant as her instincts set in. Her muscles jerked her body upright in a fight or flight response causing her to gasp as several of them cramped from sleeping in an odd position for several hours.

Looking around with wide eyes, she came to the realization that she was in back in her bed at the trailer, still dressed in her evening attire. It must have been late morning by the amount of sunlight stretching across the carpeted hallway from the front windows. Shifting to ease a cramp in her shoulder, she noticed she was wearing something over her dress and looked down.

She was dressed in a gray jacket made out of durable wind breaker material and lined with some type of soft, lightweight thermal fabric meant to keep body heat in. Slowly pulling it off, she held it up for closer inspection. It had a high collar, cuffs and waist that strapped closed with velcro, while the whole jacket was secured with a long zipper. Two breast pockets adorned the front of the jacket, one on each side of the chest and thin fabric straps ran from neck to shoulder.

What caught her attention was the shoulder patch on each arm. It was the head of a snarling wolf flanked by the wings of a bat. She was busy inspecting one of the patchs when the sound of the trailer door was pulled shut, causing her to flinch at the loudness of it. She quickly shoved the jacket under the covers she was still half under, hiding it from view.

"It's about time you got up lazy bones," came Rachelle's voice from the doorway.

Looking up from the bed, Red blinked. "What time is it?" She hadn't even looked at the clock when she'd sat up, having been suddenly focused on what had been put on her person.

"Almost ten. It must have been late when you got back. None of us woke when you came in." Rachelle smiled a little. "I tried to wake you earlier this morning but you were curled up under the covers and so deep asleep you didn't even budge."

Red continued to stare at Rachelle. When did she get in? The last thing she could remember was dinner with Michael and Archangel. She'd prepared to leave with Michael and then…everything was a blank until now. Suddenly, her anger flared. They'd done it to her again!

She shifted to get out of bed and felt that her pistol had been returned to its rightful place as if it had never been missing. She saw Rachelle take a step back at the sudden change in her look.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, fine," Red offered back as she huffed out a breath, sliding out of bed, keeping the covers over the jacket she'd hidden there. She stalked over to the dresser that had been designated as hers and pulled open an empty drawer. Pulling her dress up slightly she unstrapped her gun and shoved it inside.

"Did something happen last night other than you getting us the biggest contract in the history of the company?" Rachelle's words were worried, softly spoken as if afraid to bring up possible bad memories.

This brought Red up short, "What?" she asked, looking startled. "I…what?" Her mind was quickly flipping through the events of the night. Nothing had been discussed about contracts to her knowledge. They hadn't even discussed her company being hired by Michael's.

"I mean, no. We had dinner and we discussed a possible business venture but I wasn't sure it was going to go anywhere. I allowed myself a glass of wine and I shouldn't have. I must have been more tired than I thought because I was so exhausted by the time I got back to the trailer, I didn't even get undressed, just crawled into bed. Plus, I had wanted to be up early today to see some of the shows before the heat set in." Red ran a hand over the top of her hair, pulling out the braid and half ruined hairdo. "I'm mad at myself for not setting the alarm or leaving you a note to make sure I was up."

Rachelle still looked a little worried but started to relax as she began to see Red's reasoning behind her 'frustration'. "You should have said something yesterday about wanting to be up early this morning. I could have pulled out the ice cubes or had one of the guys pick you up and toss you into the shower, clothes and all."

Red smirked, working to keep her anger in check at the two men from last night. Whatever they'd hit her with, it must have been strong enough to mess with her system a bit. She was having a hard time controlling her emotions right now. If that was the case, she didn't dare do any flying today until she was sure most or all of it was out of her blood stream.

Rachelle pulled the stack of papers off the counter and waved them at Red, "Well whatever you guys talked about, that must have been one heck of a bargaining session last night. There was a delivery guy with these first thing this morning for our review."

Red reached over and took them from Rachelle's hand and began flipping through them. The farther into the contract she got, the more her astonishment grew. This was the type of contract that could make or break a company and it was being handed to them on an 'almost' silver platter. Finally she had to stop reading before she let herself get carried away. The drugs still had a bit of a hold on her and she didn't feel she was thinking clearly.

Handing them back she nodded. "Let's keep this to ourselves and wait until we get back to the hanger. I want a few days to think about this and see if our lawyer can find any loopholes or if Mac can find anything either. Four minds are better than two on this and I'll be damned if I'm going to get caught in a corner by a bunch of red tape with restrictions on what we can and cannot do outside of our business with them. Not saying that would happen but I want to cover our butts on this before we go further."

Rachelle took the papers, nodded slowly and then tucked them back into the envelope. Looking Red up and down, she smirked, "Better get a shower or you'll be too late to see anything else today. They're calling for possible rain storms this afternoon."

With a sigh, Red looked down at her rumpled black dress and frowned. Without another word, she turned and headed to the bathroom in hopes of becoming more alert with a cold shower and normal clothes. Next on the list was water, lots of it and breakfast…well lunch at this point in time.

She had a lot to think about and she was desperate to talk to Mac and Sam as soon as they got back and rested from their trip.


	10. Chapter 10

_**(Thanks for being patient. I finally sat down and did some calculating. If I didn't skip ahead in time or turn back the hands of the clock, the date below would be 'about' accurate for the time frame everything is happening in. Man, I must be nuts to want to be 'that' accurate. But I had to figure a few things out and needed to know where we sat in the age of technology as well as a few other things.**_

_**Anyway, enjoy this chapter. Thanks to Eagle Hawke for being my Beta and extra eyes on this chapter. I was struggling and not sure if I was even coming off in a way that sounded like I had two brain cells to rub together. But...I'm told I do so I'll post this now and let you decide. Next chapter is slowly but surely forming in this muddled brain of mine...Read and review please, even if you didn't like it. It is truly appreciated.)**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

3 months later (Late November 2011)

The entire hanger was a hive of activity as the crew worked to get the camera rigging packed and the railing secured to mount the new hi-res digital film cameras on. Two more camera operators were hired after extensive interviews and training. A third chopper was purchased, one that had a bit more sophistication and updated tech than their other two. Their most recent purchase was a mobile home that they converted into a rolling studio for their camera techs to work in. They could repair cameras, develop regular camera film in a small dark room, review digital film footage on a bank of closed circuit servers and computer systems during production before submitting it to the film makers.

This was their first official job working for Hendrixson Productions, a subsidiary of one of the largest movie production companies currently in the United States. After the contract had been hashed out with the executives of Hendrixson Red felt a little more comfortable with this new endeavor. Thankfully, Michael Bridges had kept his nose out of the rest of the negotiations. In fact, she had only seen him twice since their revealing 'dinner' party.

Red sat in her office that had been constructed out of what was once the storage loft. Rachelle had jokingly dubbed it 'The Hawkes Nest'. Sturdy glass panels formed most of the walls that looked out over the floor of the hanger. A few file cabinets sat in the corner and a desk angled out to face the main section of the floor below. Behind the desk, however, was a fold-up cot for when Red ended up spending extra time at the hanger instead of at the Bone Yard or at her cabin. Rachelle might be the manager of Stars and Stripes but she was still the owner and there were times when the owner was requested for business deals or social appearances.

Looking up from her computer, she watched the organized chaos below. A slight smile on her lips showed she was pleased with how well Rachelle had things in hand preparing to send off their crew for the next two weeks of shooting. Looking back at her computer, she tried to focus on the current status of their accounts as well as information the airport had sent her on possible acquisition of a bigger hanger that was being vacated early next year. She had to do some figuring to see if it was worth the extra square footage or if they could continue to manage in their current surroundings.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made her look up from her calculations. Lex knocked on the edge of her door that stood open.

"We're ready to take off Red. Any last instructions?" he asked with a grin.

She chuckled, "You look like a kid about ready to take a trip to Disney Land," she teased as she got up from her desk and left the office, letting him lead downstairs.

Rachelle handed her a clipboard as she stepped to the hanger floor. "Here's everything I can think of on what you might need to know until I get back. Think you can handle running the place by yourself for a week?" There was a touch of teasing in the tone of her voice.

Red looked at Rachelle as she took the clipboard. "Get outta here before I smack you with this. I think I can manage just fine without you."

Several of the other crew laughed at the look she gave Rachelle. They were already on the move to the choppers and the mobile video or 'MV' as Rob, their new tech, liked to call it.

Standing out of the way, Red watched as the crew left, holding her breath for a moment as she silently wished them luck.

The silence, compared to the chaos earlier, was almost deafening in the hanger now vacant of most of their equipment save one chopper. She turned away from the open door and exhaled. Going over to the coffee pot, she picked it up and went to the sink to rinse it out so she could start a new one. If she was going to be staring at numbers most of the day in this kind of silence, she was going to need whatever help she could get.

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><p>It began raining the first night she slept in her office. It wasn't much at first but by morning it was a steady downpour that was almost deafening inside the metal hanger. The rain stopped and started at odd hours throughout the next two days. With either the roar of the rain on the roof or the silence of an empty hanger when it wasn't pouring, Red felt as if she was slowly going mad from reviewing numbers and accounts too long.<p>

Checking the clock on the wall over Rachelle's office, she wondered if it was too early to grab a bite of lunch. The rain had stopped half an hour earlier and she decided that a change of scenery was in order. Grabbing her jacket, she headed down the stairs.

The sound of someone clearing their throat from the hanger doorway made her quickly turn, her hand sliding towards the inside of her jacket. She quickly checked that reflex to grab her gun when she saw an elderly man standing there, wearing a blue baseball hat with 'World War II Veteran – USS Saratoga' written out in gold lettering, an old brown leather jacket and tan slacks.

Quickly assessing the man, she knew he had to be close to his mid-eighties. Not knowing why such a man would be standing in her hanger, she turned and walked towards him, giving him a quiet smile then held out her hand.

"Welcome to Stars and Stripes Air Service. What can I do for you?"

The old man took her hand and shook it. "Names Hank Duggen." He was quiet again as he seemed to be assessing her.

"Is there something I can help you with Mr. Duggen?" she asked, trying to be polite.

"Oh, just call me Hank. Besides, I don't need to ask whose granddaughter you are. You look so much like your grandmother Eva, it's uncanny."

Red's heart seemed to speed up slightly as she tried to casually let go of the man's hand after shaking it. For someone who was a World War II veteran, he seemed pretty spry and still had a firm grip. "Did you know my grandparents?"

Hank smiled, "Oh, you could say that. I was your grandfather's best man at his wedding." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a worn out envelope that seemed to hold a good handful of photos, rubber banded together. He took the rubber band off of the envelope and sifted through the pictures before pulling a faded black and white photo out. "See, that's me, that's your grandfather Charles and that's your grandmother Eva." He held out the photo to Red who took it gingerly.

He sifted through the other photos and pulled another black and white faded memory to show her of three men standing in World War II uniforms. "We served together in World War II along with a crazy Italian-American we'd met named Santini."

She didn't know why but she felt herself blushing as she looked down at the smiling faces of her grandparents and a much younger version of this man standing next to her. She had only a handful of pictures of her grandparents. She handed the photo back towards Hank. Turning slightly, she motioned to the interior of the building and farther out of the reach of the light mist that was blowing in through the doorway. "I'm Cheyenne Hawke, but you can call me Red. Can I get you a cup of coffee or something else to drink?"

He looked at her jacket, "Actually it seems I'm preventing you from going somewhere."

She smiled at him, "Actually I was trying to get to some different scenery for awhile and was heading to lunch. Would you care to join me?"

"I haven't had that good of a proposal in years," said Hank with a wink. "And if the place is still there after thirty years, I think I know the perfect place to go."

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><p>Three hours later found the pair sitting in a small greasy spoon that looked like it hadn't been updated since the 60's, the remnants of their meal stacked at the edge of their table. The tables and floor were clean and the wait staff looked a bit past their prime but the service was excellent. Burger and potato salad, grilled cheese and ham with a side of slaw and four beers had been the order for the day.<p>

The envelope had come back out and pictures were scattered across the table. Red looked from picture to picture again and again as she listened to Hank's stories about the antics of her grandfather and Santini. The history of how Charles acquired some of the paintings that hung on her cabin walls made her nearly faint from the chances he took just trying to preserve them from being destroyed. She learned a bit that day about her grandparents in their younger years before the war broke out.

When Hank seemed to fall back into his memories a bit, growing quiet, Red looked over at him. "You miss them, don't you," she stated. It wasn't a question. She had seen the look of sadness in his eyes now and then when he remembered something particular about the others that he'd forgotten and had only just now remembered.

He nodded slightly, "Yeah, I do. Your uncle and father were great kids, both very talented young men. Unfortunately, when Charles and Eva died, they became distant from everyone else but each other. Santini did the best he could to raise them right but by then I had a family of my own and had moved farther away, going where the job took me. Now I look back at all I missed and know that I never got a chance to say good-bye to any of them."

Red smiled sadly as she gathered up the photos to keep them from being damaged from sweat rings from the beer bottles and water glasses. "I think they knew, in their own way. Life happens and all we can do is keep moving forward. At least you have your memories of them, of the good times, the happy times, the adventures and their friendship. You have something I'll never have, but because of you, I now have a little peek into the past and the family I came from."

Hank looked up at her and nodded, but didn't smile. He sat quietly for a time, lost in his own thoughts and sighed. "My wife passed away about two years ago. My kids are bugging me to move to an 'assisted living' home and sell my house. They keep bugging me to go through my belongings and do away with all my extra 'junk' that I don't need, either by selling or giving it away. I honestly just think they are being lazy and don't want to deal with stuff when I'm gone." His tone of voice had changed, making him sound almost petulant.

The silence at the table stretched out between them. What was Red supposed to say to something like that? She could understand in a way where he was coming from. After her adoptive mom had died, they'd moved from place to place and with each move, she had less and less worldly possessions, her adoptive father making her 'lighten her load' each time until all she had were a few small things to remember her mother by in a backpack and a few changes of clothes. It was hard parting with things that meant so much to you, being forced to leave memories behind.

On a whim, she reached out and laid a hand over his wrinkled one. "What can I do to help you out then Hank?" she asked quietly.

His wrinkled, age weathered hand was warm to the touch and he reached over with his other and patted the top of hers. "Such a wonderful woman you are. And I hate to be a bother, but now that you ask, I own a storage unit out this way. There's probably not a lot left in it. I got rid of most of the junk out of it years ago but I think I left a few boxes, maybe a few odds and ends in there, thinking they'd be of value some day. If I give you the keys to it and the code to get into the place it's at, could you clean it out for me?"

Red stared at him for a moment then smiled. The man was disarmingly charming and the smile he was giving her now spoke of a man still full of cunning and mischief. Rolling her eyes slightly she smiled, "Sure, why not. I was getting bored looking at the computer screen and numbers anyway."

He patted her hand, "That's the spirit. Feel free to keep anything you find in there if you want, otherwise just donate it to the benevolent society. It's not like I'll need it wherever my kids want me to go to," he said with a mock frown.

She snorted slightly, "And wherever that is, you'll be terrorizing the residents within hours of being moved in with your war stories and grand adventures."

"Ain't that the truth? As the old saying goes, 'I won't go quietly into the night.' And I don't intend to go quietly into the grave either." He stood up and opened his wallet. "And with that my dear, allow an old man to treat a beautiful dame to a meal fit for the memory books."

Red found herself flushing again in spite of herself.

* * *

><p>Once she'd driven Hank back to the airport and seen him off, she checked the time and the office message machine to see if there was anything needing her attention. Finding nothing to keep her inside except perhaps another incoming storm, she shut the hanger up again and climbed into Lex's pickup truck to head over towards the storage unit.<p>

Two and a half hours later found her standing in front of a run down, decrepit looking storage facility on the north side of town outside of Wasco. The weather had been building again to bring in another storm system from the coast and all anyone could talk about on the radio was the threat of mudslides.

Looking down at the ring of keys Hank had given, she then looked up at the lock on the facility gate. One of these multitude of keys apparently unlocked the rusty assed thing. She looked to the left and right again to make sure there wasn't another way in and not seeing any, she wondered what the hell the code was for. Hank had handed her a ring of keys, saying he couldn't remember which one it was and that anything on that ring was fair game since it didn't go to anything at his house. Heck, there were even two keys that looked like they went to cars of some kind on the key ring.

As the wind picked up, blowing her jacket a little tighter to her back, she grabbed the lock and began working through the set of keys after verifying the make of the lock and seeing if any of the keys were marked with that particular version first. It took six keys before she found the one that fit. Working the key back and forth, she got the key to turn in the tumblers and pop the latch.

Pulling the lock off, she then pulled the chain out of the fence and pushed it open far enough to move the truck inside. As she closed the gate behind her, she felt the first fat raindrop hit the side of her face. With a sigh of resignation, she got back in the truck and slowly made her way into the storage yard, turned junk yard to the buildings in the back. Finding the one labeled with a 'K' on it, she pulled the truck up to it so the headlights hit the garage like door.

A flash of lightening and a crack of thunder greeted her as she got out of the truck, followed by a slowly increasing rainfall. The door was locked by not only the deadbolt lock but by another rusted MasterLock. Wishing for a can of WD-40, she got to work in the rain to find the right keys to open this place up.

When the last lock had been released, she was soaked to the skin and already regretting her decision to help Hank out. Grabbing the handle of the garage door, she tried to lift it. It gave a few inches with a loud screech and then slowed. Bracing her feet, she reached down with both hands and grabbed under the door to haul it upward. It moved another two foot and stopped. With a sigh, she stood up and went back to Lex's truck, pulled out the Mag-Lite from under the seat, turned it on and crawled through the now muddy sand to get under the door.

As she went to stand up, she came nose-to-bumper with what looked to be an old M52A2 military transport truck. There was barely enough room for her to stand where she'd crawled under the door but she managed to shimmy upwards and slide along the door to get around to the side. Shining the flashlight around the tightly enclosed space, she saw that there was nothing else in the storage unit but the truck and what looked like a modified OdAZ-828 semi-trailer, favored by the Russians back during the Cold War. Her brain was already calculating length and width of the trailer, cataloging small details about both truck and trailer as she shined the flashlight up and down along its side.

The rain drummed on the roof overhead as she carefully climbed up onto the footrest to peer into the cab. There were no keys in the ignition but the interior looked to be in decent shape. Climbing back down, she moved along the side of the trailer to try and reach the back to see if she could discover anything else about the rig. Part of her brain was babbling questions at her as to what was inside, why was it here, how had it come to be here, what was it for. The rest of her brain was already three steps ahead but her subconscious wasn't willing to fully acknowledge the possibility of what her calculations of trailer size might mean. She didn't want to get her hopes up.

Another crack of thunder seemed to herald the opening of the clouds to full force downpour status. Shining her flashlight along the back of the trailer, she saw there was just enough room for her to walk with her shoulders touching the back wall and the trailer. Looking for a latch to open the trailer, she found nothing but a smooth seam-line where the doors overlapped in the back. Sliding her hand along the back doors, she found nothing to unlatch the doors. After retracing her steps to the side of the trailer she'd just come from, checking the side for anything and finding nothing out of the ordinary, she moved to the opposite side. That's when her fingers found a slight ridge in the seam on one of the metal plates along the back edge. Tracing it carefully, she began to work to try and open it.

The rain covered the slight sound of the latch releasing with the push pressure of her fingers at the right spot but she felt it. A small panel door popped open, exposing a keypad. Her heart was thudding hard in her chest as she pulled out the slip of paper from her pocket that Hank gave her and entered the six digit number. The back doors on the trailer clicked and shifted slightly. Putting her fingers between the seams of the doors, she opened them as wide as was allowed by the back wall.

Taking a deep breath, her hands shaking, she lifted the flashlight. A flash of white underbelly gleamed, the once polished black metal was marred by layers of grime and dust still seemed to menace the space it occupied. A tip of red and white of rotor lay the length of the floor, grounding the creature in the trailer for the time being.

Shuddering, Red realized she was holding her breath and she suddenly sucked in a breath. For some reason she found herself afraid to look away for fear it was just an illusion. Reaching forward she hesitantly touched the edge of the tail rotor mechanism. It was cold to the touch and she pulled her hand back as if she'd been burned. The monster of her dreams and nightmares crouched in front of her as a million thoughts spiraled out of control and her paranoia went to Stage 10.

Exhaling in a gust as she continued to stare inside the trailer, she finally spoke aloud, trying to break the sense of impending doom. "Great Red, now all you have to do is get a truck that's been sitting for over twenty years running and out of here before the storm passes." She pushed her bangs up and blew out a breath, "And while you're at it, stand on your head and whistle Dixie while drinking a glass of water. No problem…."

**TBC...**


	11. Chapter 11

_**(Thank you for continuing to read. I will continue to put out chapters as they are written and I can proof them. They may not always be steady due to work load and content. Some are quick like this one, some may be longer. Thank you again to those that have taken an interest in this story :) Love you all. )**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

Darkness had settled in early as the storm moved on, leaving behind overcast skies that drizzled rain in short bursts. The windshield wipers on Lex's truck squeaked as they intermittently cleared off the spray from the other vehicles on the road and what fell from the sky. The glares of headlights from oncoming traffic reflected off the wet road surface as Red drove north. She had been driving for almost an hour and she needed to stop for fuel and to make a phone call.

As she strained her eyes against bright reflective glare, she remembered why she liked flying so much better than driving, especially in weather like this. Finally, the lights of a BP station signaled some relief for her and she pulled off the Interstate and into a fuel lane. The wind coming in off the ocean was cool, chilling her since her clothes were still damp from being drenched earlier.

Her shoulders felt tense as she stood there by the truck, waiting for the gas tank to fill. No one was there with crosshairs between her shoulder blades, but it felt as though every eye was watching her. Every person here could now be a potential enemy. She had to keep reminding herself to breath normal, relax and act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She was driving north to see her friend Mac, hang out for an evening and then head home in the morning. That was all. Nothing more. She hoped.

Once the tank was full, she made her way inside and bought a bottle of water and a granola bar, getting quarters in return for her change. After climbing back into the truck, she pulled around to the back of the station where a payphone hung off a post that had seen better days. Graffiti littered the entire box, and she cringed to have to touch the thing at all but she didn't have much of a choice. Putting in several quarters, she dialed Mac's office. She knew it was late but she always checked there first to see if he was working later hours due to some project. It rang four times before the answering machine picked up. Leaving a quick message that she was looking to see if he was around for the evening, she hung up. Feeding the payphone several more quarters, she tried his home number.

"Hello?" came an enthusiastic voice.

"Hey Mac!" she responded in kind. She did her best to relax her voice while her whole body felt like a bow string.

"Red! Been a few weeks. And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Well, I had to head up your way to pick up some pieces for that old PR-809 camera mount of ours. The ball bearings are going on it again. Since I was so close to your doorstep, I figured I'd call to see if you'd make me some of your Eggplant Parmesan. You game?"

Without missing a beat, MacGyver made a thoughtful noise. "I suppose I could. I'll have to go out and get a few things before you get here. How far out are you?"

"About another hour if the rain is done and people don't drive like idiots," she responded, her hands trembling as she tried to force a smile on her lips so that it carried over the phone.

"Sounds good. I'll go down to the corner market and get what I need and get us set up with some supper. Drive safely and I'll see you in an hour," he said seeming to respond in such a casual manner as if this was something they did all the time.

"Oh, and Mac?" she called out before he could hang up.

"Yeah?"

"I need my change of clothes. I got caught in the rain and I'm still soaked to the skin." She chattered her teeth together to emphasis the chill she was feeling.

"I could say something about you not being smart enough to come in out of the rain but that would be too easy. See you in an hour." The line went dead after that and she hung up the handset before climbing back into the truck and merging back into traffic.

Mac had gotten her message. The camera mount was a ruse, a quiet message that she needed to talk to him alone and without the possibility of anyone else listening in on their conversation. In the time it took her to get there, he'd have his place swept for bugs and a scrambler set up for added protection. The Eggplant Parmesan and dry clothes was just an extra bonus to make sure anyone else listening in or watching his place see nothing out of the ordinary when she arrived.

As she drove north, she wondered for the thousandth time when she had become so paranoid?

* * *

><p>When Mac greeted her at his door, she definitely had the chills. The heater in Lex's truck did nothing to fend off that dreaded sense of cold that felt like it was creeping into her bones and settling there. She must have looked miserable when he got a good look at her because he seemed about ready to say something, but instead handed her a glass of something green, sighed, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her inside.<p>

"Drink that. It'll help keep you from getting sick." He paused as he helped her out of her windbreaker. "What in the world were you thinking?" he asked quietly.

Familiar with Mac's health remedies, she sniffed at the concoction in the glass, made a face and then quickly tried to chug it down while he worked to get the damp jacket off one arm, then the other. When she was finished, she made a horrible face, shuddered and handed the glass back. "I don't know how you can stomach those."

"What? They taste fine to me."

She made another face then turned it into a tired smile. "It tastes like mulched up grass clippings Mac. However, I did as I was told and drank the gunk." She pulled her boots off at the door now and batted her eyelashes at him, "I'd love you forever if I could get a hot shower and my dry clothes."

He put his hand on his heart and feigned hurt. "I thought you liked my grass clipping drinks and didn't you already tell me last month you loved me." He sighed dramatically. "But love's such a fleeting, fickle thing." He paused for a moment as he hung her jacket up and put the empty glass in the sink. Smiling quietly back at her, he nodded. "Sure. Supper isn't ready yet so get yourself warmed up and I'll get things finished up in the kitchen."

After dragging herself down the hallway towards the bathroom, she turned on the light to reveal he'd already anticipated what she would need. Her clothes were set out, including one of his flannel shirts since all she had left with him was a t-shirt. A towel and washrag sat on the edge of the tub waiting for her to use them.

Twenty minutes later she felt a little warmer and much dryer as she came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her hair, dressed in her dry clothes with thick socks covering her feet. "At least I don't feel like a drowned rat," she said as she leaned against the kitchen island.

Mac chuckled as he pulled food from the oven and put it on the counter. "I figured we could be rather informal tonight since you're probably wanting to wrap up in a blanket more than sit in a chair."

Red made a noise of pure bliss at that and sighed happily. "You read my mind."

"No, I just know you better than you think I do. By the way, Sam said to say hello and he'll be home in a day or two. The Phoenix Foundation has him on assignment in Tamil Nadu, India, trying to document some of the lingering effects from the 2004 Tsunami. We're trying to make sure that the aid that is still going there is getting to the right places and not into the pockets of people who don't need it."

Nodding, she took a plate, let Mac dish out dinner for her then went over to sit on the sofa, wrapping a blanket around her legs and feet. Once she was situated, she placed both of her hands on the bottom of the plate to warm them with the hot food from on top. Mac served himself and then came to sit down next to her.

"So tell me," he started as he held the plate up close to his face to inhale the steam coming off the food, "what is so important that I find you drenched on my doorstep at nine in the evening?"

Shifting so she was looking right at him, her hands still holding onto the plate as if holding onto a piece of reality for fear she might be going mad, she whispered, "I found her."

Mac looked up at her slowly, "Found…who?" he asked quietly.

Red swallowed. She hadn't said the name out loud for months, afraid of jinxing herself. "Airwolf. I saw her tonight. I touched her."

Picking up his fork, Mac was quiet as he took the first bite of food, chewing it thoughtfully. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were suffering from a fever, but how did you track it down?"

Taking her cue from him, she finally picked up her fork and though her hands shook slightly she began to eat. In between bites, she began to tell him about her encounter with Hank, his request and where it led her. When Mac managed not to choke on his food from inhaling at the wrong moment, she continued.

"Mac, you've read String's journals. I've told you about my special dinner date at the air show a few months ago. Even you can figure out what's at stake here. I can't just leave her sitting there like that now that I've found her." Red chewed on her bottom lip in a nervous gesture.

Mac leaned over a little and set his empty plate on the end table and looked at her steadily for a few moments. Finally he clasped his hands in front of him, "If you take that thing out of storage, you'll be entering a deadly game of cat and mouse with people who aren't afraid, still to this day, to kill to get their hands on it. I'm not sure what the statute of limitations is on a high tech piece of military grade equipment. You probably can't claim finders-keepers with it."

Red set her plate aside and rubbed her face. "But I can't just leave something like that sit there and rust away. It's not in my nature Mac. Besides, I owe those bastards for what they did to me."

He sighed softly, "Red, this isn't about getting revenge. It should never be about getting revenge. I know it's not your nature to leave things alone, especially something as important as it is. I'm just trying to make you aware that if you leave it where it is, you won't have to ever deal with the kind of things your father did. But if you take it out of storage, there will always be someone at your back, trying to manipulate you into doing something you don't want, just like they did with Stringfellow Hawke."

Quietly, she sat and stared down at her hands. She could still see The Lady in that trailer, hunched up, caged, as if she were waiting to be released. Her hands shook while holding the doors apart, the flashlight beam wobbling in the dark recesses of the trailer. The urge to slam the doors shut and run had been so great, yet something had drawn her in, pulling her towards the front of the trailer. She'd shined the flashlight in through the windows to look at what had once been advanced systems twenty years ago, but couldn't bring herself to attempt to open the cockpit doors even the few feet that was allowed inside the metal box The Lady was stored in.

Shivers had run up and down her spine, from fear and excitement while her mind ran in circles, trying to figure out what to do next. Should she try to get the truck running and take it with her and hide it, or perhaps leave it and find a way to come back later after making arrangements for a place to put it where it would be protected? She had obviously made up her mind by then that leaving it in the storage unit to gather more dust was not an option.

Looking up at MacGyver she shook her head, "I can't. I can't promise I won't find a way to exact revenge somehow on those that tried to have me killed." She reached for his hands then, grabbing them in a firm grip. "Think about it MacGyver. There's so much potential in her. There's so much that can be done to help people, just like Dom and String used to. They didn't just let themselves be told what they could and could not do. They did what they thought was right and tried to make a difference. Sometimes it came to violence but with upgrades of equipment and software, think about her potential and what she might be capable of today, compared to twenty some years ago."

Mac rolled his head forward as if bowing to the inevitable and groaned, "I knew you were going to be like this if you ever found it. I just knew it." He sighed, pulled his hands free so he could grab her shoulders, "But if I help you with this, you have to promise not to take stupid chance and get yourself or Sam killed. I couldn't handle it if something happened to either of you. Got it?"

Red sobered, looking at him with piercing gray-blue eyes. "I can't promise anything Mac. You know life's too fragile, that any of us can die for the stupidest mistakes or accidents but I can promise I'll to be careful. You'll have to get Sam to promise for himself."

With a nod, Mac stood up and gathered the plates, "So what do you need me to do?"

A slow smile crept across her face as a plan began to form that might allow them to get a head start before anyone had a clue The Lady was once again on the radar.


	12. Chapter 12

**_(Well, things are picking up because I have got someone helping me co-write parts of this now. I find it hard at times to write from certain view-points or personalities. I would like to thank Nighshae for her assistance. (Go check her stuff out. She's good ;) ) Most of Archangel and Michael Bridges is now her. I do a little fine tuning of what she writes but otherwise, that is pretty much her stuff...and boy has it got my creative juices flowing. So expect more regular updates with a store that begins to move a bit more quickly :) Thanks everyone who has hung in there and is still reading. It is greatly appreciated! Read and review if you like, otherwise, I at least hope you enjoy the ride.)_**

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><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

"You've been awful quiet Red," came Rachelle's voice through her headset. "Everything ok?"

Looking across the cockpit at her manager, Red forced the corner of the left side of her mouth up in a semblance of a smirk, "Yeah." Reaching up, she rubbed her forehead a little to try and ease the growing tension headache that had nothing to do with the business. "I've just had my fill of noise and people for awhile. Kinda looking forward to a few days at the cabin before heading to the Bone Yard."

Rachelle looked concerned as she continued to stare at Red, the chopper heading on a north-eastern vector to the cabin. "You sure?"

Red nodded and smiled tiredly, "I'm sure. Just looked at too many accounts and numbers the last few days. I need a few days to process everything without all the background distractions."

Rachelle chuckled, "Glad to have me back?"

That made Red laugh a little, "Boy am I ever. That's why I pay you the big bucks. You take care of things I would probably toss my hands up in the air over and go screaming insane because of."

That caused Rachelle to burst out laughing. "Just remember that when my next review comes up." She banked the chopper to the west and the beginnings of Eagle Lake came into view. She watched as Reds' shoulders relaxed some as they flew closer to the cabin. She got the sense that something else had happened while she was gone but she had learned early on in her working relationship with Red not to push for answers. She'd find out in time what was bothering Red or it would pass and wouldn't be an issue for long.

Once they reached the far eastern edge of the lake, it only took a few minutes before the cabin came into sight. "Just land on the dock. I'll jump out and you can get back home and spend some time with Erica."

Rachelle knew something was bothering Red now. She was in a hurry to disembark and be alone. If that wasn't a neon sign saying something had happened while she'd been away, she didn't know what else was.

"Sure. Give me a call if you need me to come get you for anything. Lex will be back tomorrow and can either relieve me to retrieve you or can do it himself." With that said, she brought the chopper to land with the passenger door facing the main side of the dock.

Red nodded and grabbed her duffle bag from behind her seat. "Sounds good. I might pull the Maverick out of the shed and fly to the Bone Yard if I need to get down there for some reason."

Rachelle gave a shudder, "I don't know how you can stand that thing. There's no way you'd ever get me up in one of those Ultralights."

"Oh come on Rachelle. They're a blast. You should try it some time." Red knew how much Rachelle hated the Maverick 2 Legend Ultralight she'd bought a few months. She stored it at the cabin to use in case she needed to get somewhere fast. But after Rachelle had read up on them and found out about the number of the accidents and deaths that had occurred due to Ultralights, Red doubted she'd ever get her up in one.

The other woman scowled at her, "At least call down to the hanger and let us know if you're going somewhere in it so we can come looking for your body when you don't show up after a few days."

Red didn't respond to that other than to laugh as she shut the chopper door. She ducked a little as she moved out of the range of the rotors. She stood there for a minute after Rachelle took off, watching as she flew back the way they'd come before turning and heading to the cabin.

She had a lot of thinking to do while she waited for word from Mac that a certain cargo had been retrieved and secured.

* * *

><p>The mantle clock chimed 11:00 pm and Red found herself still wide awake, aimlessly wandering the floors of the cabin. She was lost in thought about things Hank had told her, mainly her grandparents and the few things he mentioned about her father. This brought her around to stand and stare at several paintings painting's that were illuminated in the faint glow cast by the lights set up to display each masterpiece.<p>

With a sigh, she looked out the window at the dark beyond the lead glass windows. Moving to the curtains, she pulled them shut and decided that if she couldn't sleep, she would pull out her fathers' journals to go back over some of the details and specs about The Lady that he'd left in them. Getting down on her hands and knees, she opened the cupboard under the silver cabinet and fished around in the back until she felt the small knothole up near the top that she could get the tip of her finger in.

With a little work, she got the slat removed. There was no true secret compartment back there but when she'd been cleaning out and organizing things after she'd moved in, she'd noticed the loose board and upon removing a few small finishing nails, found that it was hollow behind it. It was just the way the cabinets had been built into the house and it had created a small pocket of space, large enough to hold a handful of journals and a few other odds and ends if need be.

Reaching in, she felt the crinkle of a plastic bag and drew her hand back in surprise before realizing that she'd put the bag in there herself. Pulling it out, she remembered that it was what appeared to be her fathers' Airwolf jacket that Michael had left draped over her back at the air show. When she'd awoken that next morning, she'd hastily shoved it under the covers before Rachelle saw it, only to retrieve it after she'd been left alone to take her shower. She'd rolled it up and shoved it into a plastic grocery sack, before putting it in the bottom of her duffle bag. Upon her return home, she'd been so busy with the positive aftermath of the air show that she'd hid it in with the journals to deal with it at a later date and promptly forget about it as other things became a priority.

Forgetting about the journals for a moment, Red sat back against the cabinet and carefully opened the bag. Pulling out the gray jacket that months before she'd carelessly tossed aside, she now took the time to take a closer look. Smoothing out the wrinkles it had acquired inside the secret compartment, she got her first detailed look at something that had once belonged to Stringfellow.

Pulling her knees up in front of her, she draped the jacket over them, sliding her hands over the gray material and tracing the intricate stitching of the patches sewed to the shoulders. The patch on the front left breast pocket simply read 'Hawke'. Carefully, she picked it up and held it to her nose, breathing in slowly to see if she could catch any scent from years long gone. Closing her eyes, she focused on the faint hint of things she smelled.

Aftershave and soap were the strongest of the scents still lingering in the lining. Gunpowder was the next that caught her attention followed by that of sandstone and scrub sage. There was a hint of pine, perhaps a touch like that of rosin from a bow but good rosin was made from pine sap. She exhaled slowly then took another slow inhalation of the material. There was something else in that mixture of scents that had caught her attention. It smelled organic with a hint of a copper overtone. Blood perhaps.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at the garment draped in her hands, then sighed. It told her more about her father than any amount of describing could. Hesitantly, she began to explore the rest of the jacket. Unzipping pockets, she found nothing inside them until she opened the jacket and felt the inside breast pocket.

Something thin shifted inside between the linings and her fingers reached in, carefully pulling out a cream colored business card. It was bent and curled from rolling the jacket up but still looked fairly new. Flipping it over to see the other side, she found written in gold letters:

**Guardian Angels**

**870.682.9863**

Red knew a satellite phone number when she saw one. Holding the card up to the light, she noticed that nothing else marked the heavy cardstock.

It didn't take a genius to know right where this phone number led to but the question remained as to how secure was it. Was Michael Bridges one of these 'Guardian Angels' or was this strictly from Archangel?

Putting the loose board back into place, she shut the silver cabinet back up and gathered up the jacket before heading over to her desk. She draped the jacket over the back of the couch on her way past then pulled out her own satellite phone. With her paranoia spiked from the find two days ago, she set the phone down, pulled out a black box from a bottom drawer and opened it, plugging a cord from inside into the bottom of the phone. Flipping a switch, she waited for a small light in the box to turn green before picking up the phone and dialing the number.

The phone was answered on the second ring. "Guardian Angels, this is Katie, how can I help you?"

The question caught Red by surprise, making her to pause for a moment as she worked out what she was going to say. "I need to speak with Michael," she stated.

It was Katie's turn to pause. Red's keen ears caught the sound of a soft click on the other end of the line. Was she being recorded or had the line been switched over? "May I ask who's calling and the subject of this call?" the woman questioned, her tone polite but Red could sense a touch of steel buried in it.

Red considered the click she'd heard and the change in the woman's tone. If Archangel was having his calls screened, what would get his attention most? And if her reply was being recorded, then she needed to give him enough to recognize her voice. "My name is Hawke," she told the woman, her voice dropping into her slightly gruff military cadence. "And I'm calling about a Lady."

* * *

><p>Those were words he thought he'd never hear again and Archangel recognized the voice at once. Nodding to his assistant, he turned back to his office, heading for the old oak desk. He could hear his assistant in the other room responding to Red while he got himself situated.<p>

"One moment please."

Taking up his phone, he placed it into a special cradle, noted the green light and hit a button, switching from the front office line to his personal extension that was more secure and heavily encrypted. "This is Archangel. Miss Hawke, it's a pleasure to hear your voice again."

There was a slight grunt from the other end of the line that sounded vaguely like one her father used to make when he wasn't thrilled about something. "I wish I could say the same but this call isn't for us to have a social chat. I found your card. We need to talk, privately."

Archangel's breath caught in his throat a moment, and he cleared it before speaking. "I take it from your comment that you've found something?"

"I haven't found anything. I was hoping to talk to you alone, without Bridges around." Her voice still held an edge, perhaps her emotions running a bit strong as she remembered the last time she'd met him.

"I think that can be arranged," he said as he set about tracing her location through his computer. It didn't take long for the reading to come back and he smiled sadly at the memories that quickly surfaced. "When and where would you like to meet, Miss Hawke? I would prefer somewhere secure, such as your fathers' cabin or there are a number of other neutral locations we can meet at." He decided it wouldn't do for her to be aware that he knew exactly where she was.

"I'm not sure yet. But I'll call you when I've decided when and where," was her immediate reply. "I take it I can reach you at this number at any time?"

"Always. We have your phone number in our system now and you'll be routed straight to my private line. I hope that you have taken precautions in securing this call from your end?" he asked, noting the readings he was getting with amusement that showed that she was.

There was a slight snort on her end of the line, "After what happened a few years ago, I did a lot of reading in my down time and became a fast learner in the art of CYA. I think I've got things covered on this end."

Archangel smiled. The more he spoke with her, the more he realized that certain things were truly hereditary, and apparently Stringfellows' mannerisms were one of them. "You're very resourceful, Miss Hawke. But if I might ask, what is CYA?"

"I think you know Michael. I'll be in touch," she replied with a slight smirk to her tone, then hung up.

* * *

><p>As the line went dead, Michael sensed that she was withholding information, something important. His heart rate quickened slightly as he let his imagination fill in the blanks that he could only hope would be true. Settling further into his high backed chair after hanging up his phone, he thought about how she sounded so much like her father, even though she'd never known him.<p>

Hawke and Santini's death had hurt him more than he would ever admit to anyone. Cait's death had just added to the wound and if it hadn't been for his own child, he might have let the Firm take him out when they made the play for Marella and himself.

One by one, everyone who had been associated with Airwolf had been taken out of the picture. The drunk driver had been literally too drunk to have driven the car that had killed Hawke's son and the child's mother, and St. John had been too good a skier and too wilderness savvy to have gone down that unbroken trail and gotten caught in an avalanche. The only death he could positively declare had been exactly what it seemed had been the death of Le Van Hawke in Flight 93. Not even the Firm would have gone _that_ far, but the others? Yes, all the evidence pointed to those with any connection to Stringfellow Hawke being picked off one by one.

The loss of the Lady hadn't settled his nerves any, even when he knew for sure that the Firm hadn't found it. It had been a month after his 'death' before he'd been able to get out to the Lair to recover it, only to find it gone. Any remaining traces had been wind swept away. Whoever had removed her had done a good job and gotten there fast. No clues had been left behind to indicate who had her or where she'd been taken, and the few things Hawke had told him had led him nowhere.

Turning his seat, he looked out over the bright lights of Reno, somewhere he'd never have thought to live, which had made it the perfect place to settle, especially after Michael the fourth had grown old enough to start his own career. He would call his son in the morning and let him know to have their people keep an eye out for Miss Hawke just in case she had something that needed to come his way.

All in all, he'd been lucky. He'd made good money with the danger pay he'd gotten in his youth as a spy, and he'd made good investments. His 'tinkering' in electronics and aviation had brought in more money to invest, so he'd had a good nest egg to fall back on when he'd quietly slipped out of sight after his 'death'. But, it would have run out in a few years if it hadn't been for 'Guardian Angels'.

His specialized niche in the market put him in contact with all sorts of people, mainly people who were in dangerous lines of work but wanted their families kept out of the line of fire. Pulling together some of his most trusted 'Angels' as they left the Firm, he started the business first as a front, then got more serious with it as time went on. Now he had 'Angels' all over the US, guarding the families of some of the most prominent politicians, military personnel and businessmen in the country. A majority of his Guardians worked overseas in Europe and Asia, letting him keep his fingers on the pulse point of the world. Most of his employees had never heard of him, only communicating to the corporate offices through the staff that oversaw each division. For those employees that had heard of the 'Archangel', most considered him as a mythical figure, spoken of with a grin and wink as they went about their daily jobs.

Katie came in, a fresh cup of coffee for him in her hand, with a file folder under her arm. "Here's the file on Miss Hawke," she stated, handing both over.

He nodded, accepting the file and laying it down, then set the mug next to it. "Thank you, Katie. Tell Jacob in the morning that I'll be needing him on standby. I have the feeling I'll be heading back to California in the next day or two. I'll let Michael know in the morning."

"Yes, sir. I'll let the staff in the LA office know they should expect you in," she told him, and headed out as he let out a dry chuckle.

The file he opened wasn't actually about Cheyenne 'Red' Hawke, but rather about the people that the Firm had trying to tail her movements. According to the few agents he still had contact with, some of those sent to follow her were pretty good, but it seemed they were having some issues. The main one was that few of them knew how to fly. When it came to tracking someone who spent more time in the air than on the ground some days, they were having some definite problems.

Another was that no matter what kind of 'bug' was placed in the 'Stars and Stripes' hangers or up at the 'Bone Yard', they were neutralized before they could be of any use. It wasn't as if the devices had been removed, they just had a tendency to stop working within hours of being placed with no explanation as to why. However, it was believed that the phones on both locations were being monitored.

As for getting one into her cabin, the file noted that the Firm considered the distance too great to get any type of reception for downloading information from listening devices or cameras for useful real-time responsiveness. After several attempts with different devices and technology, it was given up as a lost cause and the devices were removed. When it came to secure locations, few were more secure. It always made for the perfect place to meet, even now.

In general, the Firm seemed to believe that she had little to no knowledge of Airwolf or what had happened to it. In the time since her recovery from the crash, even with the coverage they had on her being 'spotty' at best, she was on the way to falling off their immediate radar.

He read through the file twice then rose, yawning. It was time to get some sleep and see where things went in the morning. Leaving his office, he let Katie know that Red should be directed to his phone no matter when she called before he headed up to the penthouse suite at the top of Guardian Angel's headquarters.

For the first time in a long time, he went to bed with some hope that maybe someone was finally close to finding the Lady.

* * *

><p>Red mock-glared at the phone when she'd hit the 'end' button to hang up the call to Archangel. "Men," she muttered to herself as she left the phone on the desk, hooked up to the scrambler and charging. She was hoping tonight was the night that Mac and Sam were able to move The Lady to her new location. If not, it would be tomorrow night. There was no moon tonight and with the possibility of sleet and freezing rain forecasted for early tomorrow morning along the coast, most reasonable people would already be inside for the night and the roads would be fairly empty.<p>

Stretching, she felt several of her vertebra pop and with a yawn she went to the fireplace, tossed a few small logs onto the fire. Pulling a comforter out of a storage bench under one of the windows, she moved over to the couch and stretched out on it, curling herself up, facing the fire.

She let her mind wander from thought to thought as she relaxed while watching the flames flicker with their hypnotic dance. She soon found herself constantly yawning, her eyes growing heavy as the cabin made small settling noises and the hushing sounds of the wind in the pines outside lulled her to sleep.

It seemed as if she had just closed her eyes when her phone rang, startling her awake. Sitting up, she stared over the back of the couch at the desk, blinking blurrily at the pre-dawn light coming from behind the curtains. The phone rang again and she struggled to get untangled from the comforter and off the couch, trying to reach the desk.

Fumbling with the phone she managed to find the 'answer' button before it could ring again. "Hello? Hello?" she said, still working to get her brain to engage.

"Red, it's Sam," came a sleepy sounding voice from the other end.

"Morning," was all she could manage at the moment, her brain still sluggish with lack of sleep though her heart rate was still spiked from the adrenaline of the quick wakeup.

"Yes, it is," came the smart-assed answer from Sam. "Look, I'll make it quick. Dad and I are in desperate need of showers and sleep, and maybe not in that order at this rate. We got everything shifted around and where it needs to be for the work you wanted done."

Red felt her muscles relax as she leaned on the desk, "So what's this going to cost me?"

"Don't know yet. Dad's inviting you up to supper on Thursday. Come up and bring the camera mount with you as he has parts and will show you how to fix it this time so he won't have to do it again."

Her brain finally clicked that Sam wasn't on a secure line even though she knew she was. "All right. Weather permitting, I'll be there Thursday morning as I have a shoot to fly for on Friday afternoon."

"I'll let dad know. See you Thursday morning." He grew quiet for a moment then finally spoke up. "Miss you hon. I think I'm done with any journalistic photo work for awhile. I can fly back home with you once we're done up here."

She smiled softly, her cheeks warming with a soft blush. "Miss you too Sam. Maybe I should just hire you so you can do photo work for me." She grinned at that but continued without waiting for him to respond. "Can't wait to see you. Now go get a hot shower and some sleep. Be safe."

With that, Red hit the 'end' button and set the phone back down. Going back to the fireplace, she threw another few logs on the bed of coals and stoked it as she listened to wind from the north, pick up outside. Winter was knocking on her door and she needed to start making plans about her time up here for the next few months. Things were a bit different this year than last year with the 'Bone Yard' as well as the new contract with the movie company. But whatever happened in the next week, it would most likely change things even more.

TBC -


	13. Chapter 13

_**(I would like to thank Nighshae for her assistance. (Go check her stuff out. She's good ;) ) Most of Archangel, Michael Bridges and Jack Colvetti is now her. I do a little fine tuning of what she writes but otherwise, that is pretty much her stuff! This chapter is good background fill, how things are, how things came about, a few connections and the springboard for what comes next. Enjoy. Read and review if you like.)**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

It was early Tuesday evening when Michael Bridges stepped out the front door of the Guardian Angels headquarters in LA to watch a small motorcade as it turned off the main street and onto the narrow private drive. It wasn't often his father came to California. Too many people from his past that could potentially ID him still lived and worked in the area. From time to time it was a necessary risk to deal with business matters. Precautions were a top priority when Archangel was on the move to ensure his safety; such as two SUV's that held armed guards and the limo with its tinted, bullet proof glass.

Though he was still Michael 'Archangel' to those closest to him, his father no longer wore anything more light colored than gray in his choice of suits. Gone was the instantly recognizable white limo and helicopter he'd used back when he'd worked for the Firm. He traveled in a bit more low-key fashion nowadays, though in ways common for a prosperous and successful businessman. The navy blue limo he rode in now was fashioned with an eye towards protection as well as comfort. Both the Lear jet and Bell 429WLG helicopter he flew in were painted in the company's colors of navy blue with gold and white accents. The 429WLG was based off the same line that Airwolf had originally been designed from but offered the best options of comfort for the old man, and the company favored them to move people around fast when needed.

Having a 'Guardian Angel' for your child not only meant the child had a full time bodyguard when they left the home, but the family also had a way to call up nearly instant backup if something went wrong. Many high profile kidnappings had been stopped thanks to Archangel's training, helping to build the company's reputation as the best in the business when it came to keeping loved ones safe.

Striding down the wide steps that led to the drive, the young man reached the bottom as the limo came to a stop in front of him. The driver quickly stepped out and opened the door for his father as Bridges reached out a hand. His father's hand clasped around his wrist half in greeting, half to allow the younger man to give him a bit of support as he stepped out of the limo.

"Any word?" asked Bridges as the two men started up the stairs, the younger slowing his pace to match his father's limping stride.

"No, she hasn't called back," Michael stated.

"Do you think she found something or do you think she was testing the number to see where it got her?" Bridges paused for a moment inside the building to let his eyes adjust to the darker interior.

"I'm hoping a little bit of both," his father admitted as he nodded to the men holding the doors for them as they passed by.

The foyer was three levels high with solid balconies most of the way around. The sculpted walls were interspersed with gold, decorative grillwork in a way that looked very attractive from the main floor. Of course, it also allowed for shooters to fire down on the main floor from cover in case the place ever came under attack. It hadn't happened in the States, but all their buildings had the same design and it had been needed in a few of the less stable areas of the world.

Silently, father and son moved to take the first of three elevators up to the twelfth floor penthouse suite, a staple feature in all of their headquarters around the world. It allowed Archangel to stay close to his work and be available if something went wrong at any of the other locations. Bridges lived in this buildings penthouse when his job with the filming company kept him in California. However, his father had an adjoining suite of rooms and office space set aside for him for when he made his rare visits.

Leaving the last elevator, they moved through an outer office, greeting the two guards and the receptionist there before going on to Bridges suite. There the old man was finally able to relax as Samantha, one of his Angels from his days with the Firm, came to greet him. As she relieved him of his tie and suit jacket, leaving him with just the fitted vest over his white shirt, they moved into the main living room.

Settling back into a comfortable chair, Michael lifted his bad leg and rested it on the waiting hassock, taking the pressure off his aching knee. He'd had replacement surgery several years ago on his knee and hip joint. It had helped, but traveling was still a strain on the artificial parts. Nothing would ever make right the damage from so long ago.

"So, anything new on the very resourceful Cheyenne 'Red' Hawke? And do we have any idea why people call her 'Red'?" he questioned once he'd shifted into a comfortable position. He smiled over at Bridges as he was settling into nearby chair.

Bridges shook his head, "I have no idea where that name came from. Perhaps you should ask her next time you see her. However, I have recently discovered something of interest about her," his son replied, his look growing instantly amused. "Though I'm not sure if you're going to like this or not."

"Oh?" Michael questioned, frowning. "The worse that could happen is that she's hired a Firm agent sent to spy on her."

"Nothing like that," Bridges assured him with a laugh, shaking his head as Samantha brought them both glasses of wine. "We've discretely checked her entire employee roster, and they're all exactly what they seem to be. No, one of our informants contacted me a few days ago and said they saw Cheyenne Hawke leaving the home of one Angus MacGyver, head of the Phoenix Foundation, last Friday around six in the morning. She was getting into one of her pilot's trucks."

Michael's wine glass paused mid-sip then was lowered as his look grew very thoughtful. "Interesting. Are you sure it was her, and that it was his home?" he questioned, frowning in bemusement.

"Yes," Bridges replied. "We checked the address of the house and ran the license plate on the truck. It's registered to her pilot Lex Marsters and the house is rented by one A. MacGyver. Our informant described her quite well; reddish brown skin, long black hair in a braid, blue jeans, hiking boots and a red, white and blue 'Stars and Stripes' nylon jacket."

Michael tilted his wine glass one way and then another, watching the red liquid inside slide around the sides. "I've met MacGyver once. He's an interesting character. What's her connection to him and the Phoenix Foundation?"

Bridges set his wine glass down on an end table, then stood and moved over to his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick manila folder before returning to his chair. "It seems that every time I turn around, I'm digging a little deeper into her past. And every time I start digging, I either find things that fascinate the hell out of me or make me wish I'd stopped."

Michael watched as his son sat down and set the folder in his lap. "And which kind is this?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. He remembered several of the things they'd found out about her childhood that had made Michael wish he'd known about her before Stringfellows' death. He could have saved her so much heartache as well as given her a better life than what she'd had.

"Oh, definitely one of those 'fascinating' pieces," he said with a slight chuckle. He pulled out a picture and handed it over to Michael. It was of a teenage Cheyenne and a much younger MacGyver, posing in front of the Phoenix Foundation helicopter. Cheyenne was all smiles, like someone had just told her she could have anything she wanted in the whole world. And knowing her, that thing was what was sitting behind them in the photo.

"Apparently, when she was fifteen and on the run after her adoptive father died, she'd broken into MacGyver's houseboat. The cops found her when they checked on a silent alarm she'd tripped. They hauled her off to juvenile hall and were going to press charges when MacGyver showed up and bailed her out, refusing to consent to any charges and coming up with some story about how it was all a mistake. After that, most of the information I've managed to find seems a bit hazy. From what I can put together, he found her a foster family with a retired couple that used to work for the Phoenix Foundation and helped mentor her until she graduated from high school. He helped make sure she had her pilots' license updated, even let her do some flying for the Phoenix Foundation to log flight hours and signed off as her legal guardian when she joined the Air Force at the age seventeen." Bridges took a sip from his wine glass as he flipped through the pages of the ever growing file.

"Interesting," stated Michael as he stared at the photo, memorizing that beautiful smile on the young woman's face. "Anything else?" he asked.

His son shrugged, "Other than MacGyver having a son a few years older than her? Sean Angus MacGyver or Sam for short. Apparently they both hate being called Angus. I've heard rumor from my sources that they've been pretty serious about one another for the last few years. She even asked him to move in with her."

This news caused Michael to blink and look up at his son in surprise. "She's got a boyfriend?"

Bridges laughed, "Yes dad," he said rolling his eyes a little in exasperation. "What? Did you think she was some type of monastic prude or going to become an old maid? She's only thirty-six."

Michael's face flushed slightly as he thought about the young woman in the photo he still held. As he stared at it his mind began think through a few things. Her connection with MacGyver and the Phoenix Foundation may be the link that solved a bit of a mystery that had been plaguing him for a few years.

Bridges watched him closely, "What are you thinking about?"

Michael looked up at his son, concentration still written on his features. He handed the picture back to him. "Knowing about this connection could be a fortunate piece of luck for us. It might be just what I need to fill in a few holes but I'll need to think about it some more." Shifting in his seat, he finished off the wine in his glass. "Otherwise, how is she doing with Santini's old business? Is it doing well?"

Bridges chuckled softly as he closed the folder after replacing the photo. "Very well, in fact. She's recently acquired two other failing air service businesses and added their equipment and clientele to hers. Her real claim to fame is her growing collection of some real antique pieces and with them, the creation of the 'Bone Yard' Vintage Aircraft Service. It got quite a bit of notice by some of the more prominent Hollywood producers after her showmanship demonstrations at the Las Vegas Air Show in September. Thing is, she's got that part of the business located separately at an old airstrip and hanger out in the hills that makes it hard to get to unless you're willing to drive a long distance or fly in. I've got someone checking now to see who she acquired it from."

Michael could only chuckle and shake his head, "Sounds like she's keeping herself busy."

His son snorted, "You don't know the half of it. I've heard rumor that they're looking at getting some ground based equipment as well. Our contract with them includes options for jeeps, tanks and other military style ground equipment if they have it available for any upcoming movies that call for it."

This had Michael's attention now as he leaned forward. "When does she have time to sleep?"

"Honestly, I think she sleeps about as often as you do." Bridges grinned mischievously at his father when he said this. "Thing is, I know of a few pieces of that type of equipment for sale right now but I'm not sure of my reception if I were to drop by to give her the tip about them."

Michael considered that, his look thoughtful as he replayed Miss Hawke's phone conversation with him in his mind and focused on what he'd picked up from her tone of voice. "When I talked to her last night, she stated she wanted to talk to me face to face without you around," he said slowly, considering his words. "That being said, I think if you were to stop by and ask if she was interested in the pieces you know about, your reception might be a little cool, but I doubt it would be hostile. Perhaps you might suggest that she see it as an extended olive branch of good faith."

Bridges chuckled and looked a little more relieved. "That's a good idea. I'd hate to be on her bad side and the wrong end of her gun. I'm pretty sure she's a constant carry these days with everything that's gone on."

Michael chuckled. "She's not as hostile as her father, though she sounds a great deal like him and has a lot of his mannerisms," he stated, then paused thoughtfully. "I think she's what Stringfellow would have been like if he hadn't lost his brother in Vietnam. She's certainly more approachable and easier to get along with from everything I've learned about her."

His son stood up and went to refill their wine glasses. "We had her on bad footing and at a disadvantage when we met her before. In hindsight, it wasn't the best move on my part, but hopefully we can get past it. I think she understands why it had to happen that way, but she certainly wasn't happy about it."

Michael let his glass fill a quarter of the way full before motioning it was enough. "However, her having a connection with the Phoenix Foundation does add an interesting element. MacGyver only knows me as being part of Guardian Angels. Our people have had some other contact with him, mainly a few run-ins here and there. For a complete pacifist, he's very good at causing all sorts of disruption."

"You think she'll turn to him for help if she finds the Lady?"

"Most certainly. Being head of the Phoenix Foundation would certainly have its perks and being able to use the Foundations resources to at least get the Lady back in the air would be helpful. However, the Lady is a machine of mass destruction and MacGyver's aversion to weapons is well known. If the Lady's ever found, he may not be willing to help Miss Hawke outfit and upgrade her to her full potential."

Bridges had to agree with that. "The main question at this point is if she finds the Lady, will Miss Hawke trust us enough to bring her to us and allow us to work on her?"

"I hope so," Michael stated with a sigh. "The Lady was state of the art twenty years ago, but there's so much we could do to improve her now. New electronic systems are much smaller and lighter in weight. I think we could improve her speed just by taking a few hundred pounds of equipment out of her. I'd like to turn someone loose on her programming just to be sure that the last of Moffett's little surprises are indeed gone, and her computers would need serious upgrades. The sensors and radar equipment would all need to be replaced or improved to make her even more efficient for surveillance."

Bridges nodded in agreement, knowing his father had continually planned as years passed and technology improved. Equipment was purchased as needed then phased out or sold when new equipment was created that replaced the previous now outdated systems. Everything was stored safely away along with every scrap of information that could be rounded up on the Lady's original systems and mechanical components.

Michael's fingers pulled thoughtfully on his chin. Bringing his right leg up to join the left on the hassock, he stretched out in the chair and got comfortable. "So, now we wait for Miss Hawke to call." Looking at his son, he raised an eyebrow in a questioning look. "Did you work today?"

Bridges shook his head, watching his father get comfortable. "No, I was off. I told them I was working on a project, which I am. I wanted to be around to be sure you were comfortable, which I see you are," he stated with some amusement, then rose and went to the stone, artificial fireplace they had installed years before and picked up the old cello he kept in a special stand. "You're going to have to tell her about this, you know," he stated, checking the tuning as he sat down on a nearby stool.

"I know," Archangel murmured as he leaned back in the chair, resting his head against his left hand. "I have the cash set aside to pay her for it if she's willing to sell. She doesn't seem to play or even be musically inclined. I'm hoping she'll be willing to part with it in favor of it going to someone who can truly utilize and cherish it."

Bridges gave his father a smile, settling down and starting to play the priceless Stradivarius that once serenaded eagles. When Michael, Marella and Caitlin had closed up Hawke's cabin after his death, they'd packed away the art into the underground store room but none of them had been willing to trust the rare instrument to the ages. Instead it had been brought down from the mountain and properly taken care of over the years.

He had seen the instrument as a small child, tucked away in a specially constructed stand in his father's office. He had wanted to try to play it, as any child would, but his father had told him that if he wanted to play it, then he had to learn to play well first. Years of lessons had followed before he'd finally been allowed to remove Hawke's cello from its stand.

His music teacher had been moved to tears when she'd finally seen the priceless instrument that had so motivated her finest student to excel. They'd become good friends and she enjoyed his playing. Twice the instrument had been taken out of the building for special charity concerts done to benefit veteran groups. There were plans in the works to take it out a third time the next month for a Christmas concert if things went well. "Better put your patch on," he told his father. "The last three times I've played for you, I put you to sleep."

Pulling the black patch out of his pocket, Michael set about doing just that, sliding it into place under his glasses, then setting them aside on the table next to his now empty wine glass. Leaning back in the comfortable chair, he settled down, and let his son play him to sleep the way Stringfellow Hawke had done so many years before.

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><p>Red brought the ax down on another log, splitting it in two. She had been working off her nervous energy since mid-morning, trying to put in a supply of wood for a few weeks. The last time both she and Sam had been at the cabin they had hauled in deadfall and sawed it into logs for splitting at a later date.<p>

Her back and arms ached from the physical strain of hefting the six pound ax over and over again. She'd also resorted to using an eight pound sledge with splitting wedges to break up the larger pieces into more manageable sizes. Setting the ax aside, she worked to gather and stack the split wood from around the base of the splitting stump.

Her Tuesday afternoon was almost spent as clouds raced across the valley towards the west, bringing the wind that blew a damp chill off the lake that smelled of rain. She pulled her hooded sweatshirt and jacket closer around her neck to try and keep the cold from penetrating further. As the wind picked up in intensity she knew she was out of luck as the first few fat cold rain drops hit the top of her head.

By the time the rest of the wood was stacked, her jacket was soaked through and clinging to her. Hauling in several armloads of wood finished her day and she took a moment to peel the cold, sodden garments off over her head. The smell of homemade soup filled the warm air of the cabin, making her stomach growl. But dinner would have to wait until she'd had a shower and thaw herself out.

As she started the shower to warm the water while she undressed, she caught a glimpse of her back and shoulders in the mirror. She paused for a moment, looking at the pattern of scars from the skin graphs and surgical incisions used to put her back together over two years ago. Being as cold as she was, her skin was pale, causing everything to stand out in stark contrast to her healthy, unmarred skin.

This was the evidence to prove she'd survived her first and so far, only run in with RedStar and the Firm. It was a reminder to her that if she went through with what she had planned, now that she'd found Airwolf, she could be in for much worse. Was this a risk she was willing to take? She wouldn't be alone this time. Sam was determined to be a part of this. If she went down, so would he. Was she willing to risk his life as well as her own over a piece of military hardware?

Turning away from her reflection, she rubbed at her temples and stepped into the hot steamy shower to try and chase away these thoughts for a little while longer. It was Sam's life to risk since she wasn't asking him to join her. He was doing this on his own volition. But if something happened to him, would MacGyver ever forgive her?

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><p>Wednesday morning found the California weather perfect for a mid-November day. MacGyver parked his truck along the curb of an older neighborhood in front of a house and lawn that was immaculate. Sitting on the porch, enjoying a morning cup of coffee was the older man he came to see. Raising his hand in greeting as he approached the gate, he called out "Hey, Jack!"<p>

A wrinkled hand raised and waved in response, "Hey there Mac. Long time, no see." There was a grin on his face as he motioned MacGyver to join him on the porch. "Been keeping yourself out of trouble these days?"

Mac came up to the porch and took the seat the older man offered and relaxed back, "I'm trying Jack. The Phoenix Foundation doesn't leave me much time to get into trouble anymore."

Jack laughed at this. "What brings you to this side of town?" Even for his age, Jack didn't miss a beat. He could sense Mac wasn't here for a social visit. By the time Jack Colvetti retired from the LAPD, he had held the prestigious job of Hostage Negotiator for fifteen years. He was a fifty year veteran of the force when he'd finally hung up the badge and shoulder holster.

"I was looking for possible information on someone and got to thinking he might have been around the same time you were on the force." He unzipped his jacket and began to pull out a manila folder he'd rolled up and stuffed in an inside pocket.

Jack grunted then stood up, tossing the remnants of his coffee out into the flower bed. "Come on inside. I'll fix us some fresh coffee and we'll take a look at what you've got."

Mac raised an eyebrow at this but got up out of his chair and followed Jack inside. Motioning to a chair at the kitchen table for Mac to sit in, Jack busied himself with setting a new pot of coffee on the stove and getting down another cup. "So, who ya looking for?" He turned and hovered at the edge of the table. "Someone from the Force?"

Having pulled out the folder from his jacket, MacGyver worked to straighten it out a little as he spoke. "I don't think so. He might have been more along the lines of some other government agency," Mac admitted. Satisfied he had the folder as flat as he was going to make it, he drew out a copy of the picture he'd gotten from Red's cabin. "Description of the guy would be sandy-blonde hair, wore white suits, one eye. He wore glasses with one lense darkened."

Jack started, staring at Mac as he slowly sat down at the kitchen table. "Where the hell did you hear about Archangel?" he asked, looking at the photo Mac handed him.

"So you've met him?" MacGyver asked, a touch surprised that he had.

Pointing to the three standing next to Archangel, he nodded. "I remember this group." Looking up at MacGyver, he asked. "Remember back in '85, that hostage situation on the QE2?"

Mac gave a slight shrug, "Barely. It was over within a few hours and quietly tidied up before the media could make too much of it."

Jack poked a finger at Caitlin, "This gal, though I barely saw her, was part of a sorority group that all ended up being taken hostage. Their main target was one of the sorority group and the perps wanted to use her to get to her pop's money. The gal's dad had quite a bit of influence and money because he supplied arms for the military." He held the picture closer to his face then pulled it away with a smirk. "Found out that feisty red-head was formerly of the Texas Highway Patrol. She'd worked in their helicopter surveillance unit."

MacGyver looked over at the photo and nodded, trying to encourage Jack to go on. "So what was Archangel's part in all of this?"

Jack tapped the image of Archangel. "He was high up in the Firm, showed up to help me out because of who the main target was related to and what he did for the government. Any time this sort of thing showed up, he was on hand to help out. Kinda nice that he had access to some fairly well trained guys who had cool heads and were better trained than most SWAT forces I've seen in action." He pointed to Stringfellow and Santini, "But I remember these two real well." His look turned wry and he chuckled. "I remember Archangel's face when these two showed up and informed him the red-head was on board. He wasn't happy at finding out that bit of news on top of everything else. The old man was mad as a wet hen and full of bluster, but the kid was a cool customer. He reminded me of a sniper; quiet, collected and with no wasted movement. When he did speak, you felt compelled to listen."

Nodding, Mac got up and helped prepare the coffee since the water was boiling on the stove. "Anything else you can tell me about that group?" He waved in the general direction of the photo.

Jack snorted, "Other than seeing the most incredible helicopter in my life that day?"

MacGyver set a steaming cup of coffee down in front of Jack and then set down again with his own in his hands. "Really?"

Jack nodded, "I know you wouldn't believe me but these two guys left because the hostage takers are demanding a helicopter to the airport. Archangel tells me they are both pilots. So a little while later, here comes this younger guy in a Huey. Calm as could be. But no older guy. I didn't give it a second thought. Things happen with the negotiations and the younger fella takes off with the three hostage takers and four hostages, one is the red-head. After the Huey is off and moving, Archangel gets on the radio and apparently starts talking with the old guy and then this sleek black and white helicopter out of some science fiction movie pops up from behind the QE2 and starts to follow after them. Thing is, we never heard it fly in. Didn't even know it was there hovering above the water, hiding out."

MacGyver watched as Jack's eyes seemed to dazzle at the thought of having seen Airwolf in her hayday. He let him sit there for a moment, sipping his coffee before asking another question. "How often did you work with Archangel?"

Jack shrugged, "I don't honestly remember off the top of my head. I worked with him a few times before the QE2 incident and once or twice more before he died in '88.

"So, what do you really know about this guy, Archangel?" Mac asked.

Jack turned to look at MacGyver, a look that showed he was thinking quickly. "How did you get a hold of this picture?"

It was MacGyvers turn to chuckle and pull out another photocopy of a teenage Cheyenne MacPhearson. "Do you remember her and how I came to you, asking for help in getting charges against her dropped for breaking and entering my houseboat?"

The older man took the picture and stared at it for a long moment, then a slow smile crept across his face. "Yeah, I remember. The cops were afraid she was mute or something. She hadn't said a word from the moment they picked her up to the time you came to the station. Where most kids her age would have been either bawling or all bluster, she was silent as a church mouse, watching everything with eyes that gave you the chills."

Mac laughed, "Oh don't be dramatic Jack. She wasn't that scary. She was a kid in a bad situation and she was scared out of her mind."

Jack snorted, "Well it was still unnerving. So what's she got to do with all of this?"

MacGyver pulled out a couple of photos of Red, one of her in her military blues, another of her in front of the Stars and Stripes hanger, and one in front of the cabin. He held the one of her at the cabin up to the one of Stringfellow, Archangel, Cait and Dom. "She remind you of someone in that picture?"

Taking the pictures, the old man looked at them, then looked back at the one of her as a young girl then back up at Mac. "This her?" Not waiting for an answer, he looked back down at the one of the four adults in front of the cabin. "No. She couldn't be. She's related to that pilot?"

"Stringfellow Hawke is her biological father," he stated. "Small world, isn't it? Sad part is, he gave her up for adoption back in '75. She never knew him. But she and I have stayed in touch over the years and when she found out she had inherited his estate, she began researching his past and wanted to know more about the people in his life."

"This picture's up at Cheyenne's cabin now," Mac explained. "She's trying to find out more about her past. I've talked with some of the Hollywood folks who knew the other three since they did a lot of filming and stunt piloting." He shrugged. "As far as this guy," he said as he tapped Archangels picture, "I knew hardly anything and had hoped that you'd run into him at some time in your career. He doesn't seem the kind of man easily forgotten."

Jack leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee, his memories taking him back over the past and those he once knew. "I don't know much about him other than what I learned through our working relationship. He wasn't the kind to put on airs in spite of the suit and he treated his people well. He never tried to muscle in the way some feds do. Archangel was a pretty good guy. As far as spooks go, he was a good one from what I'd heard. He ran the local Firm Agency branch for a number of years before he was killed." With a sad sigh, he looked back at Mac. "He loved our country, took care of his people and his people seemed to like and trust him. What more could you ask for in a government man? They just don't make 'em like that anymore."

**TBC -**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me on this journey. I truly hope others are enjoying this but I do this for my own fun and hope that if I'm enjoying it, others will to. I honestly thought I would most likely never finish this story but enough people kept putting it as a 'follow or favorite' or leaving messages telling me to continue it. So I did. I just hope I haven't disappointed those that wanted more. **

**I'd love to hear from people as to what they think of the story, good or bad. Ideas are always welcome or just general questions or chit chat. Conversations make the creative blood run faster ;) **

**There will be a few more chapters in this 'story' to continue to build up backstory for characters that have been 'absent' for twenty some years or to put people in place for the future. But once we're all on the 'same page' then we'll be off onto another 'book', so to speak. That's when the true adventures will begin and perhaps a bit of trouble. Dun dun dunnnnn...**

**So on with the show...**

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><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

"Do you know how hard it was to get that antiquated piece of junk started?" asked MacGyver as he drove Red and Sam to the warehouse where the truck and trailer had been stashed.

The late afternoon sun was weak as it reflected off of the traffic around them. Red was lost in thought as she stared out the window, not truly paying any attention to the scenery around her.

Sam leaned forward between the seats and gently gripped her shoulder, "You ok?" his voice was soft in her ear.

"Hmmm?" she said, seeming to come back to herself, blinking. Turning her head, she stared at Sam for a moment before looking back at MacGyver in the drivers seat. "What did you say?"

Mac sighed a little, "I asked if you knew how hard it was to get that truck started?"

Red smirked, "I'm sure I have a pretty good idea if it's anything like the few old pieces I've been working to restore up at the BoneYard lately. Why do you think I called my supplier of military surplus parts ahead of time?"

The breath from Sam's chuckle tickled her ear as he gave her shoulder another squeeze, "Let's just say that according to dad, it was one of the more taxing challenges he's had in awhile." Leaning in even closer to Red's ear, he mock whispered, "And he loved every minute of it."

A sly smile spread across her face as she looked over at Mac. "Good. It's about time he had a difficult challenge to put that aging brain to use. Can't let that gray matter continue to turn to Jell-o just because he's gotten lazy sitting behind a desk."

"Hey! I'll have you know…," responded Mac in a huff. He was about to say more when Sam spoke up.

"We're here."

The look on Red's face went from jovial teasing to strained alertness in less than a second. Her eyes scanned the area as they drove down the dock past several warehouses until they came to one that looked like any other except for newer doors. The security system seemed a bit outdated but if she knew Mac, it was now state of the art. She had seen a few other warehouses with similar systems and hoped it would blend in with the rest.

As they pulled up next to the building, her eyes continued to search the area for any possible lurkers or evidence that something was out of place. Mac made a move to get out of the Jeep but her hand on his leg stilled him. "Stay. I know this sounds weird, but I want some time alone with it. I want to be the one to take her out of the trailer and see it fully for the first time in twenty some years."

Mac flashed Sam a look of concern over his shoulder before looking back at her. "You sure?"

She nodded and reaching up to the hand on her shoulder, gave Sam's hand a squeeze. Opening the Jeep door, she stepped out into the cool air coming in off the ocean. Making her way to the side door, she swiped a keycard and entered the code given to her by MacGyver.

Upon entering the warehouse, the darkened interior was broken only by what little light followed her in through the doorway. She let the door shut securely behind her, dropping her into complete darkness before her hand slid along the wall to find the first of several light switches. As she flipped the first two, the hum of sodium lights let her know it would take a few moments for the interior to light.

As the dark began to slowly turn to gray, the shadow of the old truck and the Soviet trailer started to take shape. The grayness gave way to brighter light, revealing the colors of green and silver of the transport. Slowly, Red made her way over to the sole items on the entire warehouse floor, her hand reaching out to run along the framework as she walked around it. Finally, the sodium lights had warmed up to full power and she went to the back of the trailer, opening it to reveal its contents.

Holding her breath for a moment, she stared at the black and white beast still crouched inside the silver trailer. Even under this bright light, it still seemed to menace the darkened interior, as if waiting to be given life, to be set free once more.

Exhaling, she moved forward with the purpose of waking the wolf in sheep's clothing from its long slumber.

* * *

><p>"Do you think we've given her enough time?" asked Mac, looking at his watch.<p>

Sam looked up from the book he was reading in the passenger seat he'd moved to after Red had vacated it. "She's had less than an hour dad. Give her another ten minutes. It's not like she's going to fly off in it. From what she told me, the rotors were removed to fit it into the trailer. Besides, it's sat for twenty some years. It'll need a complete overhaul before its even flight worthy."

MacGyver sighed softly. "I can't help worry that she's going to get in over her head with this, dragging you right along with her."

Closing his book, Sam chuckled. "This coming from the man who rode on the back of a horse who's saddle was hooked to rope suspended from a helicopter."

The stunned look on his fathers face caused Sam to laugh out loud. "What? You don't think me hanging around the Foundation wouldn't get people telling stories on you?" He chuckled again and then smiled. "Look, she's a grown woman. She's got a level head on her shoulders. We've both been around her long enough to know she's not going to try and open a can of worms with people who could make us all disappear."

"I just don't want to see either of you hurt, or worse. I still have nightmares from seeing her as messed up as she was after her crash a few years ago. What scares me is knowing that if I hadn't acted when I did, she probably wouldn't be alive today." Mac ran a hand through his hair and sighed with a touch of frustration.

Sam reached across the seat and took his dad by the shoulder, "Listen, I'll do my best to keep an eye on her and help her make the best decisions possible. But I can't make any guarantees they'll always be the right ones."

Mac grunted and nodded, reaching over to mock-punch Sam in the chin. "Come on. I'm tired of waiting. I want to see this mysterious super chopper."

* * *

><p>After managing to get Airwolf out of the trailer, it sat under the harsh lights, exposing every flaw and speck of dust possible on its aged surface. A little polishing would remove all traces of the last twenty years, but for now, the Lady was in a bit of distress. Two of her three tires were flat from rotten rubber, causing her to list to the left. Without the rotors attached, the once menacing beast that had lurked inside the trailer seemed almost helpless or perhaps wounded somehow.<p>

Standing just inside the open pilots door, Red stared at the seat her father had once occupied to fly Airwolf. In her hands she held several sheets of hand written notes, instructions to Hank on how to disarm the Lady as well as how to remove fluids and prep Airwolf for long term storage. Most of it was standard procedure for any helicopter but there were a few other instructions on shutting down the systems properly and removing batteries that weren't standard on any other model. Other than the journals she'd found, this was the only other thing she'd seen in Stringfellow Hawke's handwriting.

A low whistle of amazement sounded from the doorway caused her to spin around, the instructions quickly folded up and shoved into her jacket pocket as her body tensed, preparing to fight or flee. Upon seeing MacGyver and Sam locking the door and moving towards her, she visibly relaxed and exhaled in a gust. It was obvious by MacGyvers worried expression that he hadn't missed her response to their entrance.

"Now that's one hell of a piece of work," said Sam, his voice echoing a bit in the empty warehouse. He walked around the other side of the chopper, looking it over.

MacGyver came up to her and glanced inside before looking back down at her. She looked up at him, gray eyes meeting brown. Nothing was said between them but it was as if Mac could sense her thoughts. He knew how hard it had been on her not knowing who her real parents were. He could only imagine what it was like to suddenly find puzzle pieces to create a picture of a man with whom she yearned to meet face to face but never could.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he leaned in and kissed the top of her head. "Had a chance to look under the hood yet?" he asked, trying to get her mind focused on other things.

Sam came around the nose section and made his way over towards them as she shook her head, taking in a slow breath to collect herself. "No. Tires obviously need to be replaced. I haven't had a chance to see if the rotors are out of true. Thankfully the armaments have all been removed and if the instructions that were left behind were followed, the fluids have been drained and systems prepped for proper storage."

"Instructions?" asked Sam, curious at her response.

Pulling the paper back out of her pocket, she unfolded it carefully and held it up for Mac and Sam to inspect.

Sam gave a silent 'Oh,' and moved a little closer to peek inside the open cockpit. "So what are you planning to do now?"

MacGyver moved toward the back of the trailer then climbed inside to investigate several items against the back wall. Red gingerly leaned her upper torso into Airwolf's cockpit, trying to find the release for the front hood. Looking over the controls and components, she soon found it and leaned in farther to pull it, hearing the 'clunk' of the mechanism letting go. As she stepped back and righted herself, she looked over towards Sam. "Right now, I want to get a good look at the guts of the main machine. A chopper is a chopper, is a chopper. No matter what tech its' got on board, the base component is still that of a chopper. I need to assess what's still good as far as belts, hoses, connectors and wires. Those are most of the standard things that can go bad with extended age and storage. Then I need to see if the rotors are true. After that, it's a matter of finding the right kind of replacement parts for the chopper itself to see if she's even flight worthy. If I can't make her operational as a helicopter, then it's probably a lost cause to consider going any further with it."

Mac stepped back out of the trailer with three batteries in hand and nodded, "Good plan. I can start by seeing if these batteries that were left in there are any good or will even hold a charge."

Sam smiled at Red, "Just tell me what you need me to do."

With the lift to the corner of her mouth and a slightly raised eyebrow, Red reached into the backpack she'd set on the floor and pulled out a notepad and pencil. Handing them to Sam, she grinned this time. "You can be my secretary and take notes."

* * *

><p>As Red flew the older Stars and Stripes chopper up along the valley towards the cabin, the sun beginning to set, she let out a tired sigh. Twenty-four hours later and she was exhausted, having only caught a few hours of sleep on Mac's couch before heading back to the hanger. Here it was, Friday night, and all she could think about was getting a hot shower. She felt like she'd been crawling around in a grease pit and then rolled in a dust bin. Her plans didn't go beyond shower and bed.<p>

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?" she mumbled into the headset.

"With what?" came Sam's immediate response. "Your special projects or your special, special project?"

The moment they'd arrived at the hanger that afternoon, Rachelle had been all over her with notes, questions, concerns and more with their new contract and issues popping up with equipment, calls from customers and parts companies. She'd had to switch gears and get herself back in the mindset of the business. It was obvious that she was going to have to hire Rachelle someone to help her with day to day business in the office.

"All of it," she responded. "Apparently I've hit on something within the film industry and I'm not sure if I've got the manpower or staff to keep up with demand. It takes time to find and train stunt pilots. It takes trial and error to find good mechanics that will stick with you. And now I need to make sure that I've got cameramen who aren't afraid of flying and hanging out of open doors forty to a hundred feet or more in the air. But now I think I need to find mechanics to help work on the old military equipment I'm buying and refurbishing as well as the planes and choppers. I can't do it all."

Sam began to chuckle softly and finally let out a hearty laugh.

"What's so funny?" came a gruff voice over the headset.

"You!" he replied, trying to breath through the laughter. "No offense sweetheart, but I've never heard you whine in the entire time I've known you until just now. It was actually kind of cute."

Red blinked and looked at Sam in the growing darkness. "I wasn't whining! I don't whine."

The cabin came into view as Sam broke into another fit of laughter, "If you say so."

"Quiet," growled Red in a low voice, her head turned away, staring in the direction of the cabin.

Sam chuckled, "Oh don't be that…."

"Sam. Be quiet! Someone's at the cabin," said Red in clipped, commanding tone. Her eyes were intent on the smoke coming out of the chimney and the faint glow of firelight emanating from the front windows.

Sam inhaled sharply as his head turned to follow her gaze. "If I'd known we were to expect company, I would have stopped to pick up a pie or something," he quipped as Red landed the chopper on the dock. It was too late to turn back since the noise of the props had already announced their arrival.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC -<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**(I would like to thank everyone for continuing to follow this story. I've had a lot of fun picking up writing on this again. With the help of Nighshae, who's still helping to write Archangel and his son, Bridges, as well as being my sounding board and beta reader, I couldn't have gotten this far without here. Actually, she's helped me think of up new devious directions for the next story after this one is done.  
><strong>

**Ch 15 is long. Hope you enjoy and it doesn't put you to sleep. Please read and review. Enjoy! )**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

Slipping up to the front porch, gun in hand, Red kept herself out of the line of sight from the windows. She crept up the stairs carefully to avoid the third step, one that creaked when stepped on. Leaning inward once she reached the outside wall, she quickly glanced along the edge of the window then ducked back as her mind inventoried what she saw. The fireplace had a good blaze in it, casting plenty of light about the room. One of the lamps on an end table had been turned on but she had seen no visible evidence of someone inside.

With so little information to go on, she was going to have to go in. Back at the chopper, it had taken her some stern insistence that Sam do a perimeter sweep while she went up to the front door. She knew he was capable of taking care of himself but she had to convince him she didn't want any surprises coming up behind her once inside.

Moving to the door, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door inward. MacGyver had made sure to oil the door hinges when he'd worked on fixing up the cabin after she'd first moved in. It opened silently and she slipped inside.

The house was quiet, though the soft tone of a classical album was playing on the turntable. The light from the fireplace cast shadows around the room but Red immediately sensed the feel of the room was different. Her eyes swept the area from left to right, taking in each item with a quick and efficient manner.

Two pieces of artwork had been moved. A mantling eagle statue was now near the door, instead of over the fire place, and two of the paintings had been switched around. As her eyes finished the sweep of the room, they came to rest on the exposed leg and foot stretched out from a chair turned to face the fire.

Stepping closer, she realized the man in the chair was leaning away from where she'd entered, keeping her from seeing him through the front windows. With her gun aimed a little down and to the right of him, she moved around the back side of the couch to face the chair. When he was in full view she finally saw the silver hair, mustache and the glasses with one blackened lens.

Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III.

Archangel.

Standing where she could get a clear view of him, she noticed his one good eye assessing her. His head was casually propped up with his cheek resting on his fist, elbow planted on the arm of the chair. His expression was one of wary amusement. "Are you planning to stand there holding a gun on me all night or are you going to shoot me?" His voice held a touch of mirth as he spoke.

Without looking away, she tilted her head slightly then jerked her chin towards the mantling eagle. "You touched my stuff." Though her expression was dead serious, her voice held no sense of danger to it. "What made you think you were invited to come here? Is there anyone else here?"

"It's the way your father kept them, years ago," Michael stated, shifting in his seat to fully face her. "And yes, I'm the only one here. My son left a couple of hours ago so I'm quite alone."

Red kept the gun trained on him for a few seconds longer until she seemed to come to a decision. Setting the safety, she pulled open her jacket and slid it home in the shoulder holster. She raised her voice as she spoke though her eyes never left Michael. "Sam, meet the infamous Archangel, also known as Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III. I'm sure you've seen his mug on a picture or two around the cabin."

The sound of the front door clicking shut was followed by footsteps as Sam moved closer. Michael turned his head slightly to get a better look at him. "Good evening, Sam. I've been looking forward to finally meeting you."

Sam gave the man slight nod. "Hi." Looking over at Red he gave a small shake of the head. "I didn't see evidence of anyone else having been here."

She looked around before looking back at the man in the chair. "You never answered my question about what made you think you were invited to come here."

Michael shifted a little under her penetrating gaze. Looking over at Sam he asked, "Is she always this blunt? Her father was the same way. He could be so infuriating at times." Without waiting for an answer from Sam, he looked to Red. "I spent a lot of time here the last few years your father was alive," Michael explained, his mouth quirking slightly in amusement. "This place became a bit of a refuge for me, especially after I got my ass caught twice and your father had to come rescue it."

Red shifted her weight from one foot to the other as her muscles relaxed, her expression softening slightly. "That's why you moved the artwork. The place didn't feel right to you."

Michael looked at her for a few seconds then gave a slight nod. Looking around, his good eye finally settled on Sam. "I did bring a peace offering for my intruding upon your hospitality. Steaks are prepped and ready any time for cooking. The potatoes are done and warm in the oven, there's a salad in the fridge, along with a bottle of fine red wine and tiramisu for desert to top it all off."

Red raised an eyebrow as the list of food in his peace offering grew longer. She was about to say something when her stomach gave a resounding gurgle. This caused Michael to try and hide his amusement though Sam wasn't as tactful as he burst out into laughter.

"If you would care to tell me how you like your steaks, I'll get the table set and then begin cooking. You two honestly look like you could both use a bath and I'll be happy to be your chef if you want to clean up and change clothes." Michael shifted in his seat then reached for his cane as he pushed himself up to his feet. "I came here to discuss some things with you Red, and answer any questions you might have since our one and only meeting up to this point was rather tense and short lived."

Red actually snorted at that statement. Looking over at Sam and then down at herself, she gave a sigh as she remembered that she had promised herself a hot shower first thing through the door. Technically she'd been waylaid a little but the shower was still going to be her first official task of the evening before anything else happened or any other surprises.

* * *

><p>Dinner was a quiet affair, punctuated with neutral comments about business, health, the weather or compliments to the chef for the delicious food. Once dinner was finished, Red and Sam made short work of the dishes while Michael stoked the fireplace to keep the chill off the evening air. He turned on a few lamps and set up a selection of several classical themed records to play over the course of the evening.<p>

Red poured everyone a glass of wine and handed them out as she and Sam took up residence on the couch while Michael settled in the chair he was most comfortable in. Everyone was silent for a time as they digested their meal and seemed lost in thought.

Michael finally broke the silence as he turned to face the two on the couch, his one good eye looking directly at Red. "What do you know of the incidents that led up to your acquiring this property and the Stars and Stripes business?"

Shrugging, Red looked into her wine glass. "I know more than I want to or probably need to. Mr. Cline kept detailed records on everyone through the twenty years he was tasked with tracking the estate. Upon verification of being the sole inheritor, it was all turned over to me. When I had a little time on my hands while recovering from the crash, I did a little more digging into the accidents that claimed the others lives. With some help, the pieces began to fall into place and the picture they formed wasn't pretty."

Michael sipped his wine, then nodded, his gaze growing distant. "Then I'm sure you've figured out that none of those deaths except one were accidents. The Firm made damned sure everyone that had any connection with Dominic Santini or Stringfellow Hawke didn't live long enough to chance coming across information that might lead them to Airwolf." It was obvious that what Michael spoke of upset him greatly as he continued. "Did you realize that your father's injuries weren't severe enough to kill him if they'd been properly handled?"

That got Red's attention. "I had a hunch the Firm was involved after what happened to me. Things lined up too neatly, too methodical in the line of inheritance to be anything but intentional." Her gray-blue eyes grew hard with intensity as she became more agitated. "As for my father, no I didn't. I just got the sense from my research that something happened in the hospital that caused his death to happen faster than it should have."

Sam's hand crept over to Red's lap and took her free one in his and rubbed his thumb against her fingers in a way to calm her as well as offer comfort. The tense muscles in her shoulders lost some of their rigidness and she glanced at Sam with a faint softening of her features that hinted at a smile.

Michael's gaze returned to the crackling fire as he spoke, and he seemed to draw some comfort from the familiar flames. "Events kept me out of state for a month and Caitlin was blocked from seeing Hawk for one ridiculous reason or another that seemed to change every time she went back to try and gain access. By the time she was finally able to get in touch with me, it was too late and your father was gone. Once I got a hold of his medical charts and had one of my own medical staff look them over, it was pretty obvious that his injuries weren't severe enough to kill him if they'd been properly handled, but since they weren't, he wasn't strong enough on his own to survive them. Essentially, he died of deliberate medical malpractice."

Michael let out a sad sigh, his gaze shifting back to them. "Caitlin, Marella and I oversaw the closing of this cabin, securing the art and valuables in the underground vault and making sure everything else was properly handled. Only your father's cello was removed because it wouldn't be able to withstand the changes in temperature and humidity. The instrument is very old and requires far more care than the paintings to survive."

He took another sip of his wine. "We had our suspicions about what happened with the explosion that killed Hawke and Dom, but the confirmation came too late. Caitlin was killed just before we got the reports back on the incident. It was then that Marella and I received high level Intel that I was next on someone's hit list. Marella and my double died only twelve days after Caitlin's death. I guess they weren't taking chances we might put two and two together and come gunning for them."

Red drained what was left in her wine glass, raising an eyebrow as she looked at Michael. "That takes care of a few of the questions I had that I couldn't get answers to. Those helping me do research didn't have clearance high enough. We didn't want to dig that deep for fear of bringing any more attention my way. I was still recovering from the close scrutiny I'd gotten from RedStar and The Firm."

Michael pointed a finger at her, "Wise choice. Fortunately, even to this day I maintain contact with a few of my most loyal personnel who stayed within the Firm. After the accident that cost Marella her life, I went into hiding with my four year old son with their help. The Firm has yet to discover the deception. They believe that I'm dead and those I have on the inside make sure they keep thinking that."

Sam smirked as he sipped a little of his wine. He kept quiet as all of this pertained to Red and her past, but he listened carefully to make sure he missed nothing.

Michael paused, and his voice was softer, full of heartfelt sorrow as he continued. "Out of all of those set to inherit String's estate, Le is the only member of the family I can say with certainty wasn't killed by the Firm; he died a hero on 9/11. He was on Flight 93 when it crashed into that field in Pennsylvania. I've heard the voice recordings, and firmly believe he was one of the men who stormed the cockpit to try to get control of the plane from the hijackers. If they had succeeded, he was more than skilled enough as a pilot to have put it down on the nearest runway or highway if need be." He fell silent, and Sam moved to refill Red's wine glass then offered to top off Michael's glass, getting a nod of thanks in return.

"So what happened to you after you 'died'?" asked Red as she watched Michael with keen interest. This was a part of the story she had no record of. Up until several months ago, this man was just a name in String's journals and in Mr. Cline's files with a date of death listed next to his name.

His attention moved from the wine glass to the crackling fire, and Red realized that the old man was really feeling his age that evening as he remembered the past and those left behind. His one good eye focused on her as he spoke. "I went into hiding as I'd previously stated. I had time to prepare, and was set up with an identity that took the name of my son, rather than giving him mine. Working through a close friend, I started building up Guardian Angels, a business that allows me to keep a bit of an ear to the ground when it comes to national and even international politics as the company has expanded. For the most part, I stay behind the scenes in the business unless something is happening," he explained. "Unfortunately, it was a month after my 'death' before I could try to recover the Lady from where Hawke and Dom usually stored her. By then someone had beat me to her. She was gone, leaving only a couple of lockers behind with their uniforms and some spare clothes in them, along with the tools they used for her upkeep and her armament. Thank God, whoever took her at least took the time to disarm her first. I cleared out what they always affectionately called 'The Lair' and have all of the personal items that had been left behind, minus the jacket of your father's that you now own."

"Did anyone else know about the Lair?" asked Sam as he finally spoke up.

Michael shook his head, "Luckily the Firm was never aware of its location and those I left behind would have told me if they ever recovered her. As far as I'm aware, no one else knew of her whereabouts. Who took her and where she is now is a complete mystery."

Red watched Michael for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally she closed her eyes and rubbed at them with her thumb and index finger. She fought off a yawn but it was becoming more difficult to stay focused after the day both she and Sam had had, along with the surprise of finding their home invaded.

Michael smiled softly at seeing the two sitting on the couch, Sam having taken up holding Red's hand again when he'd sat back down. Even though she showed many of her father's mannerisms, under that tough shell, he sensed a warm spirit and a kind heart. His gaze shifted from the fire to the art on the walls around them. "Cait told me when we were closing this place up that Hawke and Dom had mentioned some sort of contingency plan that they had put into place if something should ever happen to them, but she didn't know what it was. It could have been for someone to pack up Airwolf and hide her somewhere else or it could have been the estate plan that was in place."

Red dropped her hand from her face and looked at him, "Nothing in all of the paperwork I've gone through at the office or found here gives any clue to either of those. The only reason anyone knows about the estate inheritance was because it finally came to fruition. Mr. Cline had all of those documents and he passed them onto me."

Michael nodded before letting out an obvious huff of frustration. "Red, I had no idea you even existed. You'd think being the master spy I once was, I would have been able to dig up most anything on someone. If I couldn't, I had people who worked for me who could," he admitted. "You were born a couple of years before I first hired Hawke, but he obviously covered his tracks very well as far as you were concerned. I was aware of your half-brother because of the circumstances that brought him to the US, but no one knew about you until the hold on the will was finally released and Cline contacted you."

Shifting in her seat as if suddenly uncomfortable being the topic of discussion, she pulled her hand out of Sam's and crossed her arms over her chest. "Try being on the other end of that equation. It wasn't until I was sixteen and with the help of Sam's dad that I found out who my mother was. Then seventeen years later, I get a call out of the blue. Within twenty-four hours of that phone call, I find out I've inherited land, a business, and find out who my father was. Then came the bad news; I had a half-brother, a cousin and an uncle as well, but they're all dead and I'm the last member of a family I've never heard of."

Michael grimaced, "If it is any consolation, if I had known about you and had known of your plight, I would have saved you from all of that if I could have. You are the daughter to one of the few men I could trust with my life. I owe him even to this day for the things he did to make sure I was here for my own son."

Red was quiet for a long moment then turned her head to look at Sam, "As it was, I had someone looking out for me those last few years before I joined the Air Force. Sam's dad helped me out when I had nowhere else to go."

Smiling warmly, Michael nodded to Sam. "Thank God for small miracles then. Not only did he help you but he put you onto the path that brought you to your true inheritance." He motioned to the paintings on the wall. "My people have kept an eye on this place over the years, but were under orders to never enter the cabin itself. If there had been some sort of major vandalism, we would have done something, but it's far enough away from everyone that no one ever bothered it. I knew there was a twenty year hold on the estate before it could be released. Since we didn't know of anyone else on the list of inheritors after Le died, I had been working on gathering what would be needed for my son to make a claim on the estate to keep it off the auction block. If that had failed and things had progressed to auction, Guardian Angels would have acquired both the business and the property this cabin sits on. I had no intention of letting it out of the 'family'. If nothing else, I wasn't going to let your great-grandfathers legacy rot away up here as the cabin fell into disrepair or the place was torn down to make way for more of those big money mansions that have popped up at the far end of the lake. I would have had my people come in and clear the vault out before a new owner could take possession of the place."

Either Red was more tired than she thought or something Michael said managed to loosen that tough shell she showed the rest of the world. She turned to face Michael full on, her eyes softening from the cool look she'd worn earlier. "You would have done that? Did Stringfellow really mean that much to you that you would try to preserve his…my family's heritage and legacy?"

Michael's look was sober, his tone gentle, but firm as he sought to convince her of his sincerity. "He did and still does Red. I tried to be there, even if inconspicuously for your uncle, your half-brother and your cousin. Le Van, in fact, was aware from the start that I wasn't dead, and when Le died, I vowed not to let what had once belonged to the family disappear. I wanted more than anything, to see something of the Hawke family survive." Shifting in the chair to take the weight off of his bad hip, Michael continued with a chuckle. "Imagine my surprise when I learned that someone had stepped forward and accepted the Hawke inheritance. I sent two of my people out, one to watch the hanger and the other up here to get some idea of who this person was and what they were like."

That caused Red to give a little huff of a laugh as she shook her head with a grin. "I'm sure what they reported back was pretty…," She paused for a moment trying to think of a word but when she opened her mouth to finish the sentence, she yawned instead.

Michael chuckled again. "Interesting? You could say that. Well, at least it wasn't hard to find out who you were. My watcher on the hanger witnessed the dressing down you gave your youngest mechanic. He could hear you announce your name and rank easily enough." Michael smiled at her as she yawned again. "After that, I pulled my people back and let you be since we had what we needed to start doing some discrete digging on your past." Pointing at Sam, he raised an eyebrow, "And I believe we will call this discussion at an end for the night. I fear if we keep going she's going to split her head in two with yawning."

Sam chuckled and gently elbowed Red. "Come on. It's all I can do to keep from yawning every time you do." He looked over at Michael. "We turned what had possibly been an office at one time into a small spare bedroom for when Erica or my dad come to visit. Feel free to stay in there tonight."

Michael nodded, "I'll bank the fire here and take you up on that offer. Good night."

Sam pulled Red off the couch by the hand and as she walked past Michael she laid her hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Saying nothing to him, she released his shoulder and let Sam guide her upstairs.

* * *

><p>The smell of freshly ground coffee woke Michael from a sound sleep. The air in the room was cool but the bed was comfortable and he was somewhat loath to leave it. But nature was calling and there was still much to discuss with Red before his son came back to get him later that morning. Taking off his eye patch, he slid on his glasses and looked at the clock. It read 5:15 am. Damn, someone was an early riser.<p>

Climbing from bed, he slipped into a robe and headed across the hall to the bathroom. After a quick shower and shave, he dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and thick sweater. Making his way towards the kitchen, he found Sam pulling a few things from the fridge. The poor guy didn't look like he was completely awake yet.

"Good morning," Michael said, hoping not to startle Sam too much.

Sam looked over his shoulder and gave a bit of a lopsided, sleepy smile. "Morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby. I always did when I stayed up here. I've missed this place to be honest." He looked around at the light cast by the few lit lamps and the fireplace that had been rekindled with fresh firewood to take the chill off of the early morning air.

"Glad to hear you got a good sleep. How do you like your eggs?" he asked.

"Scrambled is fine. Is Red up yet?" He hadn't heard any other movement in the cabin yet.

"She's been up and gone over an hour already," said Sam as he pulled out a dozen eggs, bacon and what looked like an onion, a bell pepper and some mushrooms.

"Oh? Did she have to go back to work? I didn't hear a chopper come in." He remembered how Hawke used to disappear at the oddest hours and without so much as a sound, even when Michael was sleeping out in the living room.

"No. She's still around. Sometimes when we're here, she takes off in the early morning and heads out somewhere unless the weather's bad. I'll warn you though, when she comes back don't even try to talk to her until she's had her first cup of coffee and a hot shower. If you try, all you'll get is the 'Glare of Death' as Erica calls it. Once she emerges from the bathroom, she'll actually be pretty perky."

Michael let out a bark of laughter, "Perky? Now that's a word I don't think I've ever heard associated with a Hawke before."

"Well maybe not perky, but at least she's much more companionable," Sam responded with a slight flush to his cheeks. He poured Michael a cup of coffee and set it in front of him, then poured a second, setting it on the edge of the wood stove.

They were silent for a moment as Sam cut up vegetables and Michael sipped at his coffee. The sound of boots on the boards outside the door alerted them that Red had returned. Michael watched as Sam set down the knife and reached for the coffee mug on the stove. Red pushed open the front door and came inside, pulling off her jacket and gloves, kicking her boots off then stowing her gear. She shuffled towards the back hallway and Sam leaned over the counter to hold out the cup as she passed.

She stalled her movement just long enough to grab at the cup and Michael got a look at her expression. It was one of contemplation, as if she wasn't completely focused on her surroundings or perhaps too focused. The rest of her expression showed evidence of lingering discomfort. Michael knew that look all too well. He often saw it on his own face after a hard days' work, standing for long periods of time or from the cold seeping into his old bones.

Heeding Sam's advice, he remained quiet as he watched her pass by and head into the bathroom, the door shutting behind her.

"We won't see her for about half an hour," came Sam's voice from the other side of the kitchen as he went back to prepping breakfast.

Michael nodded and sipped at his coffee. "Anything I can do to help?"

Sam shook his head, "Nope. I'll take care of things this morning. You took care of supper last night and you're a guest in this house, whether invited or not."

Michael gave a slight snort of derision but didn't argue. Obviously these two had a routine and if he was going to be accepted into this house at any other time, he should take pains to learn what it was or he might find himself on his rump out on the dock.

"If I might be so bold as to ask, are you and Red engaged?" Michael had wondered what their plans for the future were. They obviously slept together and had been comfortable being close to one another on the couch last night.

The sound of chopping stopped and Sam looked over his shoulder, "Technically I'd say it was none of your business but it'll come out sooner or later." He turned his back to Michael and went back to work, tossing the cut up vegetables into a bowl. "I asked Red to marry me about a month ago back before I was sent on my last photo journalist assignment to Indonesia for the Phoenix Foundation."

Michael ahh'd softly. "Well, it sounds like congratulations are in order."

Nodding, Sam picked up another bowl and began cracking eggs open into it. "Thanks. We haven't set a date yet or made it known to anyone but my dad and her manager. We'd like to keep it that way for the time being."

"I understand," said Michael as he sipped again at his coffee, watching Sam go through the motions of preparing breakfast.

Before anything else could be broached on the subject, Red emerged from the bathroom with an empty coffee cup, her black hair pulled back in a single braid, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Gone was the expression of discomfort and she seemed focused again on the world at large.

"Good morning. You were up early," remarked Michael, turning to greet her. "I didn't take you for a runner." He was shooting in the dark as to why she was outside but he wanted to see how she'd respond.

"I don't run unless someone or something's chasing me. I went for a walk," responded Red as she poured another cup of coffee and snagged a piece of pepper out of Sam's bowl. She went over to the stove and set out a deep sided pan, laying strips of thick bacon in it. She got it situated on the hotter side of the stove and reached for her coffee to sip it.

"Anywhere in particular?" he asked.

The only answer he got was a shrug. It might be the only answer he got so he didn't push it. Red stared at the pan with the bacon in it for a moment, her brow furrowed in uncertainty. It was a rather familiar look, actually.

"Something troubling you?" Michael asked her. "Something about me or something I said last night?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him, a touch of weariness in her eyes. "What makes you say that?"

His lips turned up at the corners in a semblance of a smile that spread wider into a true one. "The number of mannerisms you have in common with your father is extraordinary, though you really never met him from my understanding," he told her, a trace of sadness under his amusement. "That look you've been giving the bacon for the last minute is the one String used to give me when he thought I'd done something he didn't quite approve of, but he wasn't sure he should speak up about it." He gave her a gentle smile and took another sip of his coffee before speaking again. "Red, if you have a question, just ask. I won't lie to you, and if I can't answer, I'll tell you just that."

She looked back down at the bacon and felt Sam come up next to her and nudge her hip, motioning to her to get out of his way. With a little sigh, she picked up her coffee cup and went over to the opposite side of the counter from where Michael sat. She set her coffee down, then splayed her hands out on the marble surface, wide enough apart to give her support to lean on. Staring right at Michael, she contemplated him before speaking. "Last night you said that you hired a 'double' to take your place after you'd heard that they were going to come gunning for you," she stated, her tone neutral, emotionless. "So, basically, you set up another man to be murdered to save yourself."

Behind her, Sam seemed to be caught by a sudden fit of coughing, but Michael appeared to be completely unfazed by her near accusation. "Most people wouldn't have blinked at, much less registered that detail," he stated when Sam had gotten his breath back. "From the outside, it does seem to be a pretty cold maneuver on my part, if you didn't know there were a few caveats involved."

Red's eyebrows went up a bit at that. "He died, didn't he?" she pointed out dryly.

"Yes, he did," Michael responded, looking grieved. "David Mallory worked for me for five years as my double," he explained. "There were times when I had to be in two places at once: needing to be in one location while maintaining the appearance of being somewhere else. David was older than I was by about ten years but we looked a great deal alike. We even shared a few passions, such as a love for horses, but while I played polo in my free time, he tended to spend time on the track betting on them. It was a weakness I was aware of since it nearly got him into trouble a few times and it ruined his marriage. The other thing he had a passion for, unfortunately, was cigarettes. He had a pack a day habit."

Red's expression softened a touch. "He was already dead," she murmured.

"Dying," Michael corrected gently after taking a sip of his coffee. "At the same time I was learning of my future execution, he was being told by the doctors that he had two months left to live. There was nothing they could do for his progressed stage of lung cancer. He was someone I trusted and when he learned what the Firm's future plans were for me, he offered me a deal."

Red stood up, taking her hands off the counter and crossing them over her chest as she continued to listen. She heard Sam moving things around on the stove as he began making up the eggs, the smell of bacon beginning to permeate the cabin. She'd seen a few people that had slowly died due to lung cancer in the slums. It was a rough way to go. That his double's life had been cut short by a couple of months, in some ways, had probably been a mercy.

"David had a small amount of debt due to his gambling habits. He had essentially wasted away his retirement money because of that addiction. He had three children who lived with his ex-wife who were all in their early teens and he wanted to make sure they were taken care of in a way he couldn't afford to. I cleared his debts and set up trust funds for all three of his kids that would get them through four years of collage if they lived modestly during school. He spent a last weekend with them, informing them of his failing health then we arranged his 'suicide' a few days later so his family would have some closure. His will was that he be cremated, which suited our needs and after my 'assassination' some of my most trusted people made sure that his real ashes were turned over to his family. My 'ashes' were given a burial at sea, as I'd requested in my own will thus allowing me to disappear completely without a trace." He inhaled slowly and let out a slow breath before emptying his coffee cup. "I had hoped that Marella would survive the assignation attack but the opposition was more thorough than we expected. Both were killed in the crash. She's buried at her family's home in Hawaii."

Red grew quiet, her eyes looking over Michaels shoulder at one of the paintings on the far wall as she contemplated his words. "Fair enough," she said and turned to get the coffee pot. After refilling hers and Michael's cups, she checked to see how Sam was doing with breakfast. Seeing that he was close to done, she went to a cupboard and began to pull out dishes to set the table.

"Last night you spoke of my father's cello being removed from the cabin when you and Caitlin closed it up. You said it was very old. Was that something he inherited from his grandfather? A part of the art collection?" She hadn't seen any pictures of her father with a cello and hadn't read anything in the journals about him playing it either.

"That is something that we need to discuss," he admitted. "Your great-grandfather brought it home along with the art work from Europe and the cello was something that we all agreed could _not_ be left here."

Setting down his cup, he turned on his chair slightly, pointing to the stones along the left side of the fireplace, below the wooden mantle. "If you look there, you'll see that some of the stones, unlike in other areas, are spaced rather strangely, creating a dip. For as long as I knew him, that's where your father kept his cello."

Red turned to look at him in surprise. "He played the cello?" Movement in the kitchen stilled for a few moments, Michael apparently having caught Sam's attention too.

"He was a master cellist," Michael assured her, smiling openly at her surprise. His blue eye gleamed with good humor at her then sobered. "Many people have heard of Stradivarius violins, but few are aware that Antonio Stradivari also made between seventy and eighty cellos. Your father played one of the sixty-three remaining instruments for most of his life, an instrument that your great-grandfather brought home from Europe after the war. We just couldn't leave it here. The art would have been fine down in the vault. We wrapped everything and crated it for safety. The whole cabin could have come down on the vault in an earthquake and nothing would have happened to it. But the cello was something else. An instrument like that needs care, and after twenty years untouched, it would have been ruined."

Turning back to look at Red, he found her standing at the table, two of the three plates still in hand and staring at him, her mouth slightly open in a stunned expression.

"However, what I need to talk to you about regarding the cello is that while I know it may seem indelicate to make this offer, I would like to purchase the instrument from you." Michael watched Red try to fully comprehend what was being said to her. He gave her a moment then continued his explanation. "You see, my son was fascinated with the instrument as a child. I told him he had to learn how to play cello and play well before I'd let him touch it. And he did just that. He dearly loves to play your father's cello," Michael stated gently. He shook his head sadly. "However, I will return the instrument if you want. My son and I both understand that it is part of your inheritance, but it would break Michael's heart to lose it."

For a moment Red shifted uneasily and looked towards Sam as if seeking his guidance in this matter. He only shrugged and went back to finishing the eggs. Inhaling slowly, she put the last two plates on the table before asking the obvious question. "How much is it worth?" she asked.

"I believe the last one sold for about a million dollars," Michael admitted. "I've been building up that amount in cash, since I found out about you."

The clatter of a spoon against the stove made Red look over at Sam. He was now staring at Michael with his mouth open. She turned back to look at him and she couldn't seem to focus enough to draw a proper breath.

The old man gave them a small smile. "At least think about it for now," he suggested and she nodded a bit stiffly before motioning him to the table and that breakfast was ready.

* * *

><p>Breakfast had been silent for the first half as both Sam and Red tried to overcome the slight shock concerning the cello, its' history and the offer made on it. To Red, it just seemed almost surreal that someone like her father could have been a master cellist. But after she had allowed her thoughts to clear, she knew she had to get back on task of asking her questions or she'd lose an opportunity to get answers to things that might never get asked or she'd have to wait for several more months until she had the ability to ask them again in private.<p>

Looking up from her plate, she cleared her throat to get Michaels attention. "Do you think I will continue to have problems with The Firm or RedStar?"

Michael sat back in his chair with a look of concentration on his features. He fiddled with his fork for a moment then looked at her with his one good eye. "It threw them for a loop when someone inherited the Hawke estate. When you legally changed your last name to that of your fathers, they really started to take notice of you. But it wasn't until you came up here to open the cabin and make repairs to it that they began to put a few plans back into motion to closely monitor you."

Sam gave Michael a puzzled look. "I don't understand. What's that all got to do with her?"

Looking over at Sam, he raised an eyebrow, "She was in a position to go through her father's things, giving her the potential to actually find the Lady." He waved a hand absently in her direction. "She's a combat pilot and has the skills needed to actually fly a high tech aircraft like Airwolf. At that point, people started to make moves to get her where they could gain control of her and that's when she was moved to become the test pilot for ResRadt's new prototype. They wanted to test her skill level and figure out her limitations. When the time was right, the Firm drugged then interrogated her to determine if she knew anything about Airwolf."

Red looked away as her jaw clenched as vague memories of those sessions resurfaced. Even to this day, things were still a bit hazy about most of the details of what was asked and who was there. She gave a slight shudder as she waited to see if Michael would finish his story to Sam.

Michael glanced at Red then looked back at Sam, "They decided it would only be a matter of time before she figured out something was going on since she was being excused from the mechanical testing of the aircraft as well as she most likely would figure out she was missing large chunks of time in her days. Since their efforts of interrogation resulted in nothing and any attempt to try and program her to be their mole seemed to fail, that's when they decided to arrange her 'crash'. When she survived it, they planned for her to get the same sort of neglectful care that killed her father, but someone else stepped in, pulled strings and got her moved. It was only in the last week that I got some idea who that person was. Somehow, we never picked up that she had any connection at all to Angus MacGyver or the Phoenix Foundation, and I'm positive that the Firm isn't aware of it either."

Red's head shot up as she and Sam exchanged alarmed looks. "Would they try to come after my dad?" he asked.

The idea actually made Michael chuckle. "I doubt it. What I know of your father, MacGyver has a habit of turning things around to the detriment of those who are idiotic enough to come after him. I wouldn't mess with the man, personally. I have met him once and I found him quite agreeable. Some of my people have run into him over the years but we've always been on the same side, which helps."

Sam seemed to relax a little at that but Red was still tense at the thought of someone going after MacGyver. This venture kept creeping deeper into questionable territory that she was feeling more uncomfortable dragging others into. Pushing her half-full plate away from her, her appetite gone for the time being, she looked over at Michael.

"Do you think they're still looking for it?" She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands that were clasped together. "I mean, what would they do with it if they ever found it anyway? The thing's at least twenty-two years out of date as it is."

Michael noticed the change in Red's body language. She had closed up again and became guarded. "At the time your uncle died, they were still looking for the aircraft themselves. Not long after, there was a change in the personnel who were calling the shots. They decided that things had gotten a bit too extreme after the death of your half-brother. They have obviously proven with you that they are still searching for it and willing to go to extremes to find it. I believe they may be looking more to obtain the information that is stored within its databanks than to use Airwolf for actual tactical use."

"What about you? You still seem eager to get your hands on Airwolf, perhaps for that same information?" Red questioned.

Michael's look was troubled. "She holds information that would bring down many of those who currently head the Firm," he stated. "Some of those people are good people, some are people who have their own vendettas and are using the government to grow their own wallets and bank accounts. I would like to see the first be safe, and the second behind bars."

"And you never used your political power for yourself?" Red questioned dryly. "You've admitted you still have spies in the organization."

He looked amused, not offended by her question. "I never earned a penny for myself that wasn't from my wages, which as deputy director were considerable, and revenues from things I created, which these days are all submitted for patents through Guardian Angels."

Sam cleared his throat, breaking her out of her line of discussion before she took it too far. "Airwolf," he stated. "What were your plans if you ever recovered her?"

Michael turned to look from one to the other then nodded to himself. "I would like to see her found and restored," he told them. "As for the information in her? Well, some justice needs to be meted out for sure, at least for your family, Red. I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life in peace without having to wonder if someone is going to tip off the authorities as to who I really am. I want to see her back in the air again. She could be incredibly useful in humanitarian and disaster relief efforts or even be sent overseas to help hunt down terrorist groups in the Middle East. But she would need the right sort of crew. I have a few people who I can trust to work on her, keeping her up to date and the like, but I don't have a flight crew. I can't gather people to fly an aircraft I haven't seen in more than twenty years."

Michael seemed to consider his answer with some thought. "After all this time in storage, I know that her condition is going to be pretty poor," he stated. "Rubber turns brittle after a few years if it's not moved. Her rotors were due to be replaced after another year or so. I'm just glad that whoever took her knew to disarm her. The armament would be downright dangerous these days if it had been left in her."

Red raised an eyebrow then huffed a little in laughter. "I'm well aware, Michael, of what happens to old machines when left to sit for years. Even if you did find it, from the sounds of things, you'd have to almost rebuild it from the ground up since technology has changed so drastically just within the last ten years."

Michael nodded, "Exactly. About five years after the big melt down at the Firm, I quietly started creating a lab. The people running it spend their time doing research on the kinds of systems that were in Airwolf, upgrading the technology as it changes through the years. The parts that we know will deteriorate have been purchased and stored properly or we have the means to get them as soon as she's found. All her systems will need to be stripped down, evaluated then replaced with more modern, updated versions. The engines will have to be taken apart, checked for wear and degrading, then rebuilt. If nothing else, refitting her will finally give us the chance to rebuild her plans. Those were lost when Moffett first stole her and exist only in her computer systems, which also need to be extensively upgraded.

"My lab has, over the years, gathered all the pieces needed to do the job of rebuilding her. I do some tinkering with electronics in my spare time. Some of her countermeasure systems were of my design to begin with. Those have definitely been upgraded through the years as I've kept up my own education. We pick up new aircraft tech, tinker with to improve upon it, then discard it as better becomes available. At this point, we could probably rebuild her in two to six months of steady work. We would also be able to take upwards of a quarter ton of weight off her and get her back in the air if the right pilot was found. It's been reported to me that the Firm has done a similar project over the years, but they're not quite to the level that we are. My improvements are definitely cutting edge."

"Can you fly it?" Sam asked, curious.

Michael chuckled. "I could in a pinch, though I seldom take the stick any more. My limited eyesight prevents me from flying alone in most cases, though I held a valid license even after the attack that cost me my eye. If I had maintained my ability to fly, I would have best covered the countermeasures seat. That's the co-pilot position, able to fly the aircraft if something happens to the aircraft commander."

Red raised an eyebrow at him, "Could you teach someone to fly it?"

"Could I teach someone like you to fly her? Undoubtedly, yes." His smile towards her told her that he had already planned to train her if she was willing once the Lady was found. "You already possess many of the skills needed to fly Airwolf. It would be the systems and aircraft capabilities that you'd have to learn, and yes, I could teach you all of that."

"What were the aircraft specifics?" she asked. "How fast, how high…"

"She was pushed once to Mach 2, but the resulting damage wasn't good. One point five, one point six was pretty common. I'm aware of Hawke taking her to eighty-four thousand feet at least once. The wing mounts hold twin thirty millimeter chain guns, along with fifty millimeter cannons. The ADF pods were capable of up to ninety degree rotation to either side, and the pilot had a selection of missiles at their command. Hellfire missiles were your father's personal favorites. He went through a lot of them, though he used Copperhead and Sparrow missiles as needed. She carried a few Bullpup missiles for heavy duty destruction, and had the capability to carry a pair of nuclear tipped Shrike missiles. Moffett used the pair he had when he stole her, and your father never asked me to replace those. Dominic said they decided it was more firepower than they wanted to deal with and didn't want to risk an accident with handling that kind of material."

"I can't blame them for that one. I wouldn't want them either," Red admitted. "You said the munitions were recovered when it disappeared?"

"Found at the Lair. I had it moved to somewhere more discrete where the Firm could 'discover' and disposed of it. Wherever she is now, she's not armed."

Red and Sam sat there, listening intently to everything Michael was saying. Her mind was still reeling with the thought of having an entire lab and team devoted to nothing but the tech and mechanics that would go into what was now sitting on a warehouse floor, looking rather decrepit. "You seem awful confident you're going to find it Michael."

Michael gave a slight shrug. "Sooner or later, someone will stumble across Airwolf and one way or another I'll find a way to get a hold of her, even if that means I have to go up against the Firm to do it."

Red stood up and began to gather the dishes from the table, her expression hard to read. "After my father technically stole it from the Firm, did you ever get your hands on it again?" Red asked. "Was there a point you could have taken it back?"

Michael considered that for a moment as he made to rise and assist. Sam waved him to sit back down as he stood and gathered a few more dishes. "I can count four times where I could have seized her, but it would have meant betraying my word to your father."

Sam gave him a curious look. "I got the impression that when you worked for the Firm, you were supposed to get Airwolf back from Hawke any way possible. Why does it sound like you preferred for him to keep it?"

Michael gave him a long look then did the unexpected. He reached up and took off his glasses.

Red had come back out of the kitchen to finish clearing the breakfast table and found herself staring at the sight of what rested under that dark lens. The scar tissue covering the eye socket made it clear that the eye had been taken out. The eyelids were gone and someone had done their best to make it look as unattractive as possible, using skin grafts over the eye socket to close it up. "I wear an eye patch when I sleep," he told them. "But I can't wear it when I shower, thus my mirror at home is reversible so I don't have to look at what Moffett's attack did to me."

He put his glasses back on, covering the unnerving sight up again. "I had the perfect pilot in my employ and I wanted the perfect aircraft for him to fly," he explained. "I found the perfect designer in Moffett. I discovered too late that I'd hired a mad man, a sociopathic rapist and killer to build the perfect weapon. Don't get me wrong, Hawke wasn't perfect, but he had a streak of honor a mile wide."

The sound of dishes being cleaned off in the kitchen and water running in the sink carried into the dining room. Nothing further was said by either party for awhile as Red seemed to be digesting some of the things that Michael had told her.

Michael got up and pushed in his chair at the table. He went into the living room, obviously a third wheel in the kitchen and sat down in his favorite chair, waiting. The sun was beginning to rise over the mountains to the east and reflected off the lake.

When Sam and Red finally finished up with breakfast dishes, they made their way over to the couch and sat where they had the previous night. Neither said anything to Michael, both lost in thought.

He looked from them to the pile of coals in the fireplace. "Airwolf is a weapon, first and foremost. Even in Hawke's hands she killed a lot of people. But in his hands, she never killed an innocent. Hawke, Cait and Santini helped a lot of people in the end. I felt that she was safe with them, and more to the point, I felt I was safe with them having her. I still have nightmares, more than twenty-five years later, about being attacked by that helicopter. Not knowing where she's at and who has her, doesn't help me sleep at night."

Before Red could delve further into any more questions, her keen ears caught a whisper of approaching sound outside.

Michael chuckled at her look. "My ride is here, I take it?" he asked, reaching for his cane. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment. "I think I left my old cane up here when we closed the place up," he told her. "Did you happen find one?"

"We found a cane when we were unpacking everything," replied Sam as he looked towards the umbrella stand near the door where it was tucked away. "It's a good thing it was here because Red needed it for awhile after the crash."

As the first sounds of the chopper outside finally became audible to the others, Red pushed herself up off the couch. "How did you know the chopper was coming?"

"The look on your face is the same one that your father got when an aircraft approached the cabin. Usually a good minute before I could hear it. I always said he had better ears than a snooper mic, and I'd say you got them too."

She blinked in surprise at this then nodded. As Michael stood, she helped him with his jacket. "What kind of aircraft is that?" she asked, not recognizing the sound of the props.

Michael reached to pick up his overnight bag, but Sam got it first, shouldering the carry strap and motioning towards the door as the aircraft landed outside, the engines shutting down. "Guardian Angels predominantly use Bell 429 WLGs, the successor to the Bell 222 line that the Lady was based off of. It has a wheel based landing system, rather than skids, so it's a little more stable on rough ground and much easier to move around on an air field."

Red got the silver cane out of the stand as they approached the door and handed it over. "It's very distinctive."

Michael nodded, looking at the snarling wolf head of the cane with a smile. "I would have had to leave it behind if I'd had it with me when I went underground. I left it up here with the hopes of eventually retrieving it. I'm glad that it was able to help you when you needed it."

They went outside to find a sleek navy blue helicopter had landed on the beach, bands of white and gold on the sides and tail in the Guardian Angels colors. Bridges was exiting as they opened the cabin door, a manila envelope in hand. He ducked a little under the spinning props as he headed towards the cabin to meet his father. His smile was a little wary as he came up to porch where rest of the group stood and stepped forward to take the bag from Sam with a murmur of thanks. Looking at Red, he offered out the envelope. "It's a peace offering. I think I owe you an apology," he told her. "What I did at the air show was unforgivable, but it was the only thing we could think of to get you alone to talk to you on such short notice."

She stared at him a moment, then nodded abruptly as she accepted the envelope. "Apology accepted. But don't do it again."

"And I will apologize again for my trespass last night, and thank you for your gracious hospitality," Michael added, his smile gentle. "Thank you for humoring an old man and his memories."

Red shifted slightly under his gaze. "Those memories gave me more insight into a family I never got the chance to meet," she finally replied. "So I have to thank you for that at least. But I've noticed you never asked if there's been any progress in our finding a certain item."

His smile turned wry as he took his son's arm for the walk down to the helicopter. "Trust takes time, Miss Hawke. You know how to reach me now when you've got something to tell me."

With that, the two men turned and began making their way towards the beach and the waiting helicopter. Red watched them go and mulled over her possible choices.

As they slowly walked away, Red looked down at the envelope in her hand. Carefully breaking the seal on it, she opened it to see what Bridges had to offer. Inside were three smaller envelopes. She handed the manila envelope to Sam and opened one at random.

It held information and contact numbers for several antique equipment dealers, including lists of several of their most recent items for sale. Some of the equipment on those lists were items she'd been looking to purchase for the Bone Yard side of her business, including a WWII Jeep, Abrams tank and a tri-plane, all advertised to be in working order.

Stuffing the information back into the envelope, she hurriedly opened the second. It was an information file, and though it was multiple pages long, a quick glance through it showed her it was about the Firm's failed attempts to bug her businesses and home, as well as a warning that their phones were likely being monitored. A note inside the cover of the file from Michael, however, assured her that her line of communications would always be secure, or he would find a way to let her know.

Looking down at the information in her hands, and then up at the men as they began to board the chopper, she finally decided upon something before closing the folder and shoving it along with the unopened third envelope at Sam. "Take these inside. I'll meet you later today. There's something I've got to do so I need you to trust me." With the last few words she spoke, she had to raise her voice as the Bell's engines began to cycle faster, and the noise level increased.

Before Sam could truly respond to her other than a surprised look and a hesitant nod, she turned and headed towards the helicopter at a quick jog. When she got up to the sliding cabin door on the chopper, Michael had already opened the door to look questioningly at her. "Do you two have anywhere to be this afternoon?" she asked, having to raise her voice to be heard.

Before Bridges answered, he handed her a spare headset. "Not at this point, no," he stated once Red slipped it on. He glanced at his father who nodded in agreement to his statement.

"Good. Do you trust me?" she asked, looking up at both men then turning her full attention to Michael. "Really trust me?"

Michael considered how to answer that for a moment. "At this point, in all honestly, I believe that I trust you more than you trust me," he admitted.

She smiled at the honesty in that statement. "Have your pilots fly Sam down to your Los Angeles office in my Ranger. I'm going to assume you have a landing zone there. I'll fly your bird and take you there later. I know your birds clean. I haven't had the time to be a hundred percent sure mine are."

Sam came up and laid his hand on her shoulder. "You sure about this, Red?" he yelled.

She leaned towards Sam's ear so she didn't have to yell at the top of her lungs to be heard. "'Trust has to begin somewhere,'" she quoted, never taking her eyes off of Michael, who nodded to his son.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC -<strong>


End file.
